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STANDARD SPEAKER; 



CONTAINING 



FOR DECLAMATION 

m SCHOOLS, ACADEMIES, LYCEUMS, COLLEGES: 



NEWLY TBANSLATED OB COMPILED FROM CELEBRATED OEATOES', AX7TH0BS, 
AND POPULAR DEBATERS, ANCIENT AND MODEBN, 



A TEEATISE ON ORATORY AND ELOCUTION. 

NOTES EXPLANATORY AND BIOGRAPHICAL. 

By EPES SAEGIENT. 



SIXTIETH EDITION, 



PHILADELPHIA: 

CHARLES DeSILVER & SONJ 

PUBLISHERS. 



?^i 






Kctfered Kxordiag to AcfS of CSongress, in the year eighteen nundretl and fifty- 
two, oy Epks S>iRGENT, in tije Glerk'e Office of the District (> jirt of the Unite« 
States, fo- the Eastern District of Pennsylvania 



^^ Majcy cf Cg single pieces in this ooUoction an p^oteoted I, ctie oopyrighJ 

•■o.m from 
-^rs. F. Branagan 



PREFACE 



Ttie distinguishing features of the present collection are, the utusnai 
mnety and methodical arrangement of the materials ; a comprehensive 
grouping, such as has not hitherto been attempted, of exercises from the 
most celebrated orators and popular debaters of ancient and modem times : 
the allotment of a liberal space to original translations from the French 
and other languages ; and the introduction of notes, explanatory and bio- 
graphical, with the dates of the birth and death of authors. Side by side 
with those pieces of acknowledged excellence, that justify the title of the 
work, will be found a large numlier that are now, for the first time, pre 
eented as exercises for recitation and declamation. In the case of selee 
tions, care has been taken to collate them with the latest and moa' 
authentic editions of the works from which they are extracted ; and thui 
many current errors and mutilations have been avoided. 

Of the British parliamentary specimens, many aire valuable, not onlj 
as models of style, but as illustrating the early history of our own country 
Much original research has been bestowed on this part of the volume. 
The privi'lege of occasional compression being indispensable, it has been 
exercised with as scrupulous a regard as possible to the integrity of the 
text. Most of the extracts from Chatham, Pitt, Fox, and Sheridan ; 
nearly all from Bm-ke, Grattan, Curran, and Brougham ; all l)ut one from 
Canning and Macaulay; and all from Vane, Meredith, Wilkes, Shell, 
Croker, Talfourd, Peel, Cobden, Palmerston, Russell and others, are now, 
for the first time, introduced into a " Speaker." 

Among the familiar masterpieces of American oratory wiU be found 
many new extracts, not unworthy of the association. They belong to tlie 
whole coimtry, and no sectional bias has influenced the choice. 

Of the brilliant specimens of the senatorial eloquence of France, all but 
two have been translated expressly for this work. In the other depart- 
ments of the volume, there has also been a considerable expenditure of 
original editorial labor; all the highly effective exercises from Massillou. 
Hug., Pichat, Mickiewicz, and many others, having been translated ; 
all those from Homer, Schiller, Delavigne, Bulwsr, Mazzini, Kossuth, and 



17 PREF-VCE, 

Browning , aiid nearly all from Enowles, Croly, Horace Smith, and others 
together with the comic dialogues from Morton, Mathews, ani Coyne 
Laving been selected or adapted for this collection. 

It will he seen that the oratory of the ancients has supplied an unu8ua< 
number of exencises. A certain novelty has, however, in many instances, 
been imparted here, by original translations. We have had little, in 
modern times, to surpass the Phihppics of Demosthenes or the fiery 
invective of .^schines. The putative speeches from Livy, Tacitus, and 
Sallust, have been newly translated or adapted. In two or three instances, 
the translation has been so liberal that a nearer relationship to the original 
than that of a paraphrase has not been claimed. The speeches of Brutus, 
Caius Marius, Canuleius, Virginius, and others, have been expanded or 
abridged, to serve the purpose of declamation. The two speeches of Spar- 
tacus, that of Regulus, witli several others, are now, for the first time, 
published. The extracts from that strangely depreciated work, Cowper'a 
Homer, have the vivid simplicity and force of the original, and are among 
the most appropriate exercises for elocution in the whole scope of Eng- 
lish blank vcrae. 

Throughout the present volume, in deciding upon the insertion of a 
piece, the question has been, not " Who wrote it? " or, "What country 
produced it' " but, " Is it good for the purpose? " Like other arts, that 
of eloquence is unhedged by geographical lines ; and it is as inconsistent 
with true culture, to confine pupils to American models in this art, as it 
would be in sculpture or painting. While exercising great freedom of 
range in selection, however, it has been the editor's study to meet ail the 
demands of a liberal patriotism ; to do justice to all tlie noblest masters 
of eloquence, and to all schools and styles, from which a grace may be 
borrowed ; and, above all, to admit nothing that could reasonably offend 
the ear of piety and good taste. 

The Introductory Treatise embodies the views, not only of the. editor, 
but of many of our most experienced and distinguished teachers, in regard 
to the unprofifaible character of those " systems "' which profess to teach 
reading and speaking by the rule and plummet of sentential analysis oi 
rhetorical notation. Of these attempts the pupil may well exclaim, in the 
words of Cowper, — 

" Defend lae, tberefore, commoD sense, say I, 
From reveries so airy, — from the toil 
Of dropping buckets into empty wells, 
And growing old in drawing nothing up ! " 

The preceptive portion of the Treatise presents no particular claim to origi 
oality ; the object being merely to give a summary of all the discoverioi 
and hints that can be serviceable t(> the student, in the development of 
hie vocal and elocutionary powers. 



CONTENTS 



INTRODUCTORY TREATISE 



Oratirt. . . 15 

Eloq.»».ice 15 

Rhiitorio . . 15 

Oratory am >i!g the Ancients, 15 

The Art in (tifece, 15 

Homer, 15 

Demosthenes, 15 

His Speeches prepared, 15 

Oratory iu Some, 15 

Cicero, 16 

Superiority of Ancients, 16 

Modern Oratory, . 16 

EDfect of the Press, 16 

Oratory in Republics, 16 

Miral)eau, 16 

Englisli Oratory, 16 

i.-.:ropean Oratory, 36 

Amer-can Oratory, 16 

Patrieii Henry, 16 

Daniel Webster, 16 

Power of Oi-atory, 16 

]\li-. Webster's Opinion, 16 

Success in Oratory, 17 

How to achieve it, 17 

Quintilian's Opinion, 17 

Divisions of Oratory 17 



Elocution, 

Amonir the Ancients, . . . 

Modern Theories, 

Steele's Measure of Speech, . 
" System of Marks, . 
Walker's Klements, .... 
Inflections of the Voice, . . 
Rules of Inflection, .... 
Illustration from Pope, . . 
" fr(>m Shakspeai'e 

Rush on the Voice, .... 

Artificial Rules, 

Their InsulKciency, .... 
Wt.ately's Olijeotions, . . . 
Failure of Walker^s Method, 
Eis own Admissi m, ... 

Edmund Kean, 

Attention the Seer it, 

Practical Hints, 

John Quiticy Adams, . 
Divisions of Elocution, 

Articulation, 

Pronunciation, 

Deiects in Pronunciation, . 
Imporcance of Dictionaries, 



Quotation from Holmes, i6, 38 

Distinctness to be Studied, . 23 

Unemphatic Words, 26 

Solemn Reading, 26 

Modulation of the Voice, 26 

Good Practical Rule, 26 

The Different Keys, 26 

Low Key, 27 

Illustration from Milton, 28 

" fi-om Shakspeare, .... 28 

Middle Key, 28 

High Key, 29 

Illustration ft-om Shakspeare, .... 29 

Cm'ious Fact in Sound, 29 

Burke's Voice, 29 

Chatham's Voice, 29 

Monotone, 30 

Illustration from Shakspeare, .... 30 

" from Talfoui-d, 30 

Time, . 30 

Imitative Modulation, 30 

Ulustratioc from Pope, . . . 



,30 



Emphasis, 31 

Illustration ft-om Milton, 31 

" fi'om Shakspeare, 32 



III. Gestukb, 

Fenelon's Directions, . . . . 
Austin's Chironomia, . . . . 
Oratorical Attitudes, . . . . 
Engraved Representations, . 

Matters for Mirth, 

General Rules, 

On Timing Gestures, , . . . 

Walker's Direction, 

Illustration from Shakspeare, 

Whately's Theory, 

Attitude, 

Quintilian on the Hand, . . . 

Practical Hints, 

Awkward Haliits, 

Dress and Manner, 

The Countenance, 



IV 



Strengthening the Voice, . 
Management of tiie Breath, 
A Good Exercise, . . . 

Readinir Aloud, 
Its Physical Benefits, . . . 
Andrew Combe's Advice, . 

ExPLANATORr MARKS, 



PART FIRST. 

MORAL AND DIDACTIC 



Truth, Frayssinous, 37 

Immortality, Massillon, 38 

Utility of the Beaitiful, . . . Ruskin, 39 
The Mind of Man, .... Akenside, 40 

The World, ....... Talfuurd, 41 

Mechanical Epoch, .... Kennedy, 41 

To-day, Wilhinalnn, 42 

Duellist's Honor, .... England, 43 
Day Conceals what Night Eeveals, 

Nic/w/, 44 

Sonnet, miite, 45 

Man's Material Triumphs, . . . Fayet, 45 

Foi'tiiude, Anonymous, 46 

The United States of Europe, . . Hugo, 46 
The Peac^ Congress of the Union, 

Everett, 48 
The Spirit of the Age, . . . Becktvit/i, 49 
Moses in Sight of tlie Promised Land, 

Peahodjj, 50 

Necessity of Law, Hooker, 60 

Justice, Carlyle, 51 

To-murrow, Col ion, 52 

Eloquence of Action, . . . Webster, .jo 
Sincerity the Soul of Eloquence, Gnelhe, 5:i 
The Christian Orator, . . ViUeviain, 54 
Affectation in the Pulpit, . . . Cowper, 55 
Utility of History, . . . . De Sesrur, 56 
False Coloring Lent '.o W»r, Chalmers, 57 
Death's Final Conquest, . . . Shirley, 5S 

ReUgion, Lamartine, 58 

The Saviour's Reply, Milton, 59 

Nobility of Labor, Dewey, 60 

Labor is Worship, Osgood, 61 

Moral and Physical Science, . . Chapin, 62 

The Order l? Nature, Pope, 63 

Future Empire of our Laneuage, 

Bethu)ie,&i 
Compensations of the Imagination, 

Akenside, 64 
The Great Distuiction of a Nation, 

Channing, 65 
What Makes a Hero, .... Taylor, 66 

rt a Last Hours of Socrates, 66 

To a Child, Yankee, 67 

America's Contributions, Verpianck, 68 
The True Kmg, Hunt, 69 



40. Death is Compensation Rousseau, W 

41. Fate of Charles XU., . . Johnson, 70 

42. Our Duties, Story. 71 

43. Love of Country, . .Montgomery 72 

44. Nature a Hard Creditor, . . Carlyle, 73 

45. Times Midniglit Voice, . . . Young 74 

46. The Common Lot, . . Montgomery, 7fi 

47. True Soui-ce of Reform, . . Chapin, 76 

48. The Beacon Light, .... Pardoe, 77 

49. Cleou and I, Mackay, 77 

50. Problem for the U. States, Boardman, 78 

51. American Experiment, . . Everett, 78 

52. The Ship of State, Lunt, 79 

52. Luies, Longfellow, 80 

53. Art, Sprague, 80 

54. The Pilot, Bayly, 8] 

55. Death Typified by Winter, Thomson, 82 

56. Religious Inducements, . . . James, 83 

57. Never Despair, Lovr 84 

58. Charity, Talfourd, 84 

59. The Battle-field, Bryant, 85 

60. Dizzy Activities, Everett, 86 

61. The Giiod Great Man, . . Coleridge, 87 

62. Taxes, Sydney Smith, 87 

03. The Press, Elliot, 88 

64. Defence of Poetry, . ... JVolfe, 89 

65. Great Ideas, Channing, 89 

66. England Elliot, 90 

67. Hallowed Ground, .... Campbell, 91 

68. Nature Proclaims a Deity, Cluiteau- 

briand, 92 

69. What we owe the Sword, . . Grimke, 92 

70. Abou Ben Adhem, Hunt, 93 

71. Polunius to Laertes, . . Shakspeare, 94 

72. Where is he, Neele, 94 

73. international Sympathies, Way land, 9? 

74. Worth of Fame, Baillie, 96 

75. Frivolous Pleasures, .... Yonmc, 97 

76. Forgive, Heber, 97 

77. Science Religious, . . . Hitchcock, 98 

78. Triumphs of the English Language, 

Lyinis, 99 

79. The Water Drinker, . . E. Johnson, 99 

80. The Days that are Gone, . Mackay, JOO 

81. The Work-sliop and Camp, .... 101 

82. The Wise Man's Prayer, Johnson, IM 



PART SECOND. 

MARTIAL AND POPULAR. 



Pa=e 

1 ficipio to his Army, Livy, 103 

2 Hanniba-l to his Army, .... /d., 104 

3 ReguluB to the Roman Senate, OrisH, 105 

4. Leonidas to his Three Hundred, Pickat, 107 

5. Brutus over the dead Lucretia, Orisr^l 

arid compiled, 107 

6. Achilles' Reply, Comperes Homer, 108 

7. Hector's Rebuke, M., 109 

8 Hector's Exploit, Id., 110 

9 Hector Slain, Id., Ill 

10 Telemachua to the Chiefs, Fenelon, 113 

n litus Quintiua . . Livy 114 



12. Caius Marius, Sallust. 

13. Caius Gracchus, .... Enowles 

14. Galgacus, Tacitus. 

15. Icilius on Virginia's ^e\z\xss,]SIac.antay 

16. The Spartans' March, . . Hemans. 

17. The Greeks' Return, Id.. 

18. Ode, Collins. 

19. Virginius' Refusal to Claudius, Livy. 

20. Canuleius againdt Patrician AiTogaiice, 

Id., 

21. Catiline to his Army, .... Jonson. 

22. Spartacus to the Gladiators. Kello^.x, 



,115 



va 



8{jartaeri3 to the Koman Envoys, Orif;., 
Marullus to the Komans, Sha/cKpeare, 
Brutus on Ciesar'a Death, .... Id., 
Mark Antony, " .... Id., 

Moloch's Address, Milton, 

Belial's Address, Id., 

The Death »( Leonidas, . . . Crolt/, 
Catiline to the Uitllio Conspirators, Id., 
Cutiiine'? Last lliirauijue, .... Id., 
The ISarJ's cunimons, . . . Bulwer, 

Caradoo to Cyiin-ians, Id., 

Alfred to his Men, .... Knoiule.i, 
Rienzi to the Kipuians, . . Mitford, 
The Patriot's \'nAs-\Wim\, Montgomery ^ 
Richard to the Princes, .... Scott, 
Richmond to his -Men, . Shak.ipeare, 
Henry Y. to his Meu, . . . .Id., 



Pa? 
•10. Battle of Ivry, . . . , . Maca%>ay,^^ 

41. Van Artevelde to Men I'f Ghent, Taj lor, 14fi 

42. Wat Tyler to the King, . . Southey, 140 

43. The Soldier's Dream, . . . Cimpbel'. \Vi 

44. Before Uuebeo, IVolfe, liT 

45. The American Flag, .... Drake, 148 
40. To his .Men, before the BaHle of Ixing 

Island, lyaxhineton, 150 

47 To the Army of Italy, . . I^a/io.eon, loO 
48. Hymn to the Greeks, . Lo.niar tine, iol 
4y. Um-ial of Sir. lohu .Moore, . . /fo//?, 152 

50. Ilohenlinden, Campbell, 15.? 

51. Sonj; of GreeliS, /ti., 1.54 

52. Fall of Warsaw, W., 155 

5:i. Marco Bozzaris, Hulleck, 156 

54. The Seminole's Defiance . . Patten, 10% 

55. Battle Uyum Ka^ner, 158 



PART THIRD. 
SENATORIAL. 



1 Against Philip, .... Demosthene.i, 159 

• Degeneracy of Athens, .... Id., 160 

-mocracy hateful to Philip, . . Id., Itil 

». tenality the Ruin of Greece, . . W., 162 

5. Demosthenes Denounced, .^schines, 16)3 

6. E,v:ordium, Demosthenes, 165 

1. Public Spirit of Athenians, . . . Id., 168 

8. Demosthenes not Vanquished, . Id., 167 

9. Catiline Denounced, .... Cicero, 168 

10. Catiline Expelled, Id., 169 

11. Yerres Denounced, Id., 170 

FROM THE FRENCH. 

12. Against the Nobility, &c., Mirabeau, 171 

13. Necker's Financial Plan, . . . Id., 172 

14. Disobedience to National Assembly, Id., 173 

15. Reply, Id., 174 

16. On being Suspected, Id., 175 

17. Eulogium on Franklin, .... Id., 177 

18. Church and Stale, Id., 177 

19. To the French, Ferfrniaud, 178 

20. Terrorism of Jacobins, Id., 119 

21. Against War, Robespierre, 180 

22. Morality the Basis of Society, . Id., 181 

23. Last Speech, Id., 182 

21. To the Peers, ........ Trilat, 183 

25. The Republic, Lamartine, 185 

26. Democracy adverse to Socialism, De 

Tocqueville, 135 

27. Practical Religious Instruction, Hu§o, 186 

28. Necessity of Religion, Id., 187 

29. Universal SutTracce, Id., 188 

Bij. Liberty rd the Press, Id., 189 

V A Republic or -Monarchy, . . . /(/., 190 

Bi The Two Napoleons, W., 191 

BRITISH. 

83. The End of Government, . . . Pym, 192 

84. Defence, .... Earl of Strafford, 193 

85. Reducing the Army, . . Pulteney, 195 
8«. Against Richard Cromwell, . . Vane, 196 
37. How to make Patriots, . . . TValpole, 196 
88. Against Pitt (Earl of Chatham), , Id., 197 
B9. Reply to Wal pole. Earl of Chatham, l\)% 
M. Reply to Greaville. Id., 199 



Pag. 
41. Reconciliation with America, CAafAaw, 201 
202 



Repeal claimed as a Right, 
Lord North's Jlinistry, . 
On Employing Indians, . 
Ruinous Consequences, . 
America Uncon(|uerable, . 
requent Executiims 



Id, 

Id., 
Id., 
Id., 
Id., 
Meredith, 



Parliamentary Innovations, lieaufoy. 
Religious Persecution, . Comptlation, 
jVmerica's Obligations, .... Barri, 

Reply to Lord North, Id., 

Bold Predictions, Wilkes, 

Conquest of Americana, . . . Id., 
Reply to Duke of Grafton, Thurlow, 
Present Popularity, Lord Mansfield, 
.Magnanimity in Politics, . . Burke, 
American Enterprise, ....'. Id., 



American Ta.'^ation. 
Des)>otism Unrighteous, 
Imiieachment of Hastings, 
Peroration against Hastings, 
To tlie Bristol Electors, . . 
Marie Antoinette, .... 

Irisli Riyhls, 

Reply to Flood, 

National Gratitude, 

Catlioli<: I)is(iualification, . . , 
Heaven on the Side of Principle, 

.\gainst Corry, 

Union with (Jreat Britain, . . 
The Catholic Question, .... 
Religion Independent, .... 

Sectarian Tyranny, 

American War Denounced, . . 
.Motion to Censure Ministry, . . 
.\.ttfinpt to make him Resign, . 
Ilurliiirisni of Ancient Britons, . 
Ivi'Milts of American War, . . . 
Wasliiugtou's Foreign Policy, . 

Liberty is Strength, 

Democratic Governments, . . 
Partition of Polani, .... 
At'.ieist Government null. Shendan, 

Politicid .Jobbing, Id., 

Poiiular and Kingly Examples, . Id., 
Reform in Parliament, . Lord G-^ey, 
Conservative Inno^a/ors, Wuskisson, 
The Peusi >;i Sy.stera, . , . Cunan. 



Id 

. . Id., 

. . /(/., 

. . Id., 

. . Id., 

. . Id., 

Sraltan, 

. . Id., 

. . Id., 

Id., 

Id., 

id.. 

Id., 

Id., 

Id., 

Id., 

Pitt, 

Id., 

Id., 

Id., 

Fox, 

Id., 

Id., 

Id., 

Id., 



nn 



On Threats of Violence, 
Eeligious Distinctions, 
War with France, .... Canning, 



Bank-notes and Coin, . 
Lord J. Russell's Motion, 
Mr. Tierney's Motion, . 
Defence of Pitt, .... 
Measures, not Men, . . 
Balance of Power, . . . 
Collision of Vices, . . . 
England and America, Mackintosh. 
Fate of Reformers, . . , Brougham 
Parliamentary Reform, .... Id., 
Religious Liberty, . . . O'Connell 
[i-ish Disturbance Bill, .... [d. 
The Death Penalty, .... Byron. 
Charges against Catholics, . Sheil. 

Irish Aliens, Id.. 

Irish Establishment, Id. 

Repeal of Union, . . ... Id. 

England's Misrule, Id. 

Civil War, . . . Lord Pacmerston 
Reform, .... Lord J. Russell. 

Iiish Church, Macaulay . 

Hom-s of Labor, [d. 

Reform, to Preserve, Id.. 

Men always fit to be Free, . . [d.. 
Second Bill of Rights, .... Id.. 
Public Opinion, the Sword, . . Id.. 
A Government should Grow, . /d.! 

Reform irresistible, Id.. 

Reply to 119, Croker. 

Perils of Reform, Id.. 

Copyright, Talfourd. 

Literary Property, Id.. 

International Copyright, ... Id.. 

Legislative Union, Peel. 

American Vessels, .... Cobden, 



245 '; 144 
246 ; 145. 

246 1 146. 

247 ! 147. 

248 ! 148. 

249 1 149 

250 I 150. 

251 151. 

252 1 152. 
253 



Resistance, Henry, 281 

War inevitable, Id., 282 

Return of British Fugitives, . . Id.,1S3 

Supposed Speech, Otis, 284 

For Independence, ...... Lee, 285 

Federal Constitution, . . Franklin, 286 

God Governs, Id., 281 

For a Declaration, .... Adams, 2S8 
Conclusion of foregoing, . . . Id., 289 
On Government, .... Hamilton, 290 

U. S. Constitution, Id., 291 

Aristocracy, Livingston, 292 

E.xtent of Country, . . . Randolph, 293 
France and the U. S. ffaskington, 294 

Foreign Influence, Id., 294 

Sanctity of Treaties, .... Ames, 295 
The British Treaty, Id., 296 



The Strongest Goveniment, Jejfe tson, 
Freedom of Judges, , . . Bayard, 

Judiciary Act, Marrvt. 

Free Navigation, Id., 

Foreign Conquest, . . .. Clinton, 

Innovations, Madison, 

Party Intemperance, . . . Gaston, 

The Embargo, Quincy, 

Disunion, ....... Pinkney, 

British Influence, . . J Randolph, 

Greek Question, Id., 

Virginia Constitution, Id., 

Against Duelling, . . Compilation, 
The Declaration, . . J. Q. Adams, 
Washington's Sword, &c., . . Id., 
Union with Liberty, . . . Jackson, 

War, Binney, 

The Supreme Court, Id., 

U. S. Constitution, .... Legari, 
On Returning to the U. States, Id., 
In Favor of War, 1813, .... Clay, 

Jefferson Defended, Id., 

Military Insubordination, . . . Id., 
Noblest Public Virtue, .... Id., 
Expunging Resolution, .... Id., 
Independence of Greece, . . . Id., 

Prospect of War, Calhoun, 

The Force BUI, Id., 

Purse and Sword, Id., 

Liberty the Meed, Id., 

Popular Elections, . . . McDuffie, 
Military Qualifications, . Sergeant, 

Opposition, Webster, 

Moral Force, Id., 

Sympathy with South America, Id., 

The Poor and Rich, Id., 

Sudden Conversions, Id., 

Constitution P'atform, .... Id., 
Resistance to Oppression, . . . Id., 

Peaceable Secession, Id., 

Clay's ResolutiiHio, Id., 

Justice to the ^^^lole, .... Id., 
Matches and Over-matches, . . Id., 
S. Carolina and Mass., .... Id., 

Liberty and Union, Id., 

Reply to Webster, .... Hayne, 

The South in 1776, Id., 

The South in 1812, Id., 

Defalcations, Prentiss, 

American Laborers, . . . Naylor, 
Fulton's Invention, . . . Hoffman, 
Sectional Services, .... Cushing, 
National Hatreds, .... Choate, 

Precedents, Cass, 

On Intervention, . . . J. Clemens, 
Hazards of Prosperity, W. R. Smith, 
Flogging in the Navy, . . Stockton, 
Gov't Extravagance, . Crittenden, 



PART FOURTH. 

FORENSIC AND JUDICIAL. 



Pag-e 

i. Mbertj of the Press, .... Cwrran, 353 

t. Mr. Rowan, Id., 353 

8. Habeas Corpus Act, W., 354 

i. Appeal to Lord Avonmore, . . Id., 355 
6. On being found Guilty, . . . Emmet, 357 
fl. Great Minds and Christianity, Erskine, 362 
'' On Biasing Judgment, . . Man^eld,d<>i 



Pag» 

8. Defence of Peltier, . . . Mxhintosh, 365 

9. Instigators of Treason, . . . Wirt, 368 

10. Burr and Blennerhassett, . . . Id., id' 

11. Reply to Wickham, Id., 36? 

12. Guilt its ow-a Betrayer, . Webster, 369 

13. Moral Power, McLean, 378 

14. The Death Penalty, Huge, &«• 



PAUT FIFTH. 



POLITICAL AND OCCASIONAL. 



The Exam pi 5 of America, 
Qovermutnt Vigor, . . . 
Rejection of Reform, . , 
Address V Vouiig Jlen, 
Au«»l to Uun-ai-iiiiis, 
Ccnteiitiuent of liurojie, 
Huii^'ai-imi Heroism, . 

In a Just Cause, Id., 

Peace Inconsistent, Id.., < 

The 3-2d Dec., . . ,. Sir H. Bulwer, : 
Uritisli Aggressions, . J. Quinci/, Jr., 
Eloquence and Logic, . . . Pre.ito7i, 

Relief to Ireland, Prenti!-:s, 

Plea for the Sailor, . . Mount/ord, '■ 











Pa- 


Rt 


lations 


to England, . . 


. Everett 


sse 


Ui 


L'Ut Ex 


unples 


. Eveielt 


kh: 


\\ 




d will the Monument do. Id. 


H<w 


Ul 


volutit 


iiary Veterans, . 


. Webfiter 


■■m 


St 


te Ul) 


nations, .... 


. . Id. 


■jMi 


b\ 


ui-th 01 


■July 


. Id. 


■,m 


r' 


ostn.i, 


If to Washington, 
Pul .lie Opinion, . 


. . Id. 


a93 










In. 


;ure ul 


the U. States, . 


. Kh'U 


■;!»o 


A. 


i-irultu 


i-al Interest, . . 


Ciis/ihis: 


;i9fi 


El 


rui.oai 


Struggles, . . . 


. Johnson 


oae 


Hi 


th Jav 


of W ashington, 


. C/ioale 


■m 


California's Prospects, . . 


. Bfun^U 


S98 


Standai-d of Constitution, . 


. Webster 


sya 



PART SIXTH, 



NARRATIVE AND LYRICAL. 



1. The Crucifixion, Croly, 401 

2. Seventh Plague of Egypt, . . . Id., 403 

3. Three Days of Columbus, Delavigne, 405 

4. Destruction of the Philistines, Milton, 407 

5. Satan's Encounter with Death, . Id., 408 

6. Belshazzar's Feast, .... Hugheit, 409 

7. Bernardo del Carpio, . . . Hemans, 411 

8. Casabianca, Id., 412 

9. Rocks of My Country, Id., 413 

10. The Two Homes, Id., 413 

U. Invocation, Id., 414 

12. Lochinvar, Scott, 414 

13. Marmion taking Leave, .... Id., 416 

14. Death of Marmion, Id., W 

13. Death of Bertram, Id., 418 

16. Love of Country, Id., 419 

V} Baron's Last Banquet, . . . Greene, 420 
1& How they brought the Good News 

from Ghent to Aix, . . Brownins, 421 

19. The Soldier fi-om Birigen, . Norton, 422 

20. The Torch of Liberty, .... Moore, 424 

21. Sailor-boy's Dream, .... Dimond, 425 

22 Damon and Pythias, . . . Schiller, 427 

23 The Battle Id., 429 

M. The aiovs, . Id., 431 



Pig. 
Fate of \ irginia, .... Macaufay, 433 
Iloratius at the Bridge, .... Id., 433 
Execution of Montrose, . . Jvtoun, 435 

Peace and War, Shelley, 437 

America to Britain, .... All.iton. 438 

Old Ironsides, Holmes, 439 

Ball at Brussels, Byron, 439 

The Dying Gladiator, Id., 441 

Degeneracy of Greece Id., 441 

Sennacherib, Id., 442 

Tlie Tempest stilled, Lyons, 443 

Excelsior, Longfellow, 444 

To the Rainbow, .... Campbell, 445 

Glenara, /rf., 446 

The O'Kavanagh, Shea, 447 

Ode on the Passions, , . . Collins, 448 
The Greek and Turkman, . . Croly, 450 

The Curse of Cain, Knox, ^bl 

America, Berkeley, 452 

The World for Sale, Hoyt, 452 

Death of Gen. Taylor, . . . Conrad, 454 

The Passage, Uhlrma. 455 

Corn-age, Procte"-, 456 

The Moor's Revenge, . Mickiewiez, iX 
Charade on Campbell, .... Praed, ASH 



• PART SEVENTH. 
SCRIPTURAL AND DEVOTIONAL. 



I Balaam's Prophecy . . . 

i Paul's Defence 

8- Omnipotence of Jehovah, . . 
«. True Wisdom, 

5. A Nation's Strength, .... 
8. Exhortat!'^ to praise God, . 
T. rb« Joyfvu Messenger, . . 



Pa?e 
. 459 



Pia» 



8. Hymn of Our First Parents, . Milton, 461 

9. Universal Hymn, .... Thomson. 46i 
. Job, 461 10. Chamouny, Coleridge, 467 

Id., 462 11. The Dying Christian, Pope, 469 

Psalms, 463 12. Life beyond the Tomb, . . . Beattie, 469 

. . . . 463 j 13. Forgiveness, Anon., 47« 

Isaiah, 464 I 14. The Christian Life . . . Doddridif. 4W 



PART EIGHTH. 
RHETOrJCAL AND DRAMATIC. 

Pa»e ; Psfi 

1. Rome and Carthage, Hugo, 471 23. Brutus and Cassius, . Shakgpiore, 491 

2. Drones of th^ Community, . Shelley, 472 24. Regrets of Drunkenness, .... W., 4£% 
B. C8e.sar'3 Passage of liubicon,.ff'riou)/e,?, 473 26, Cassius instigates Brutus, . . . /d- KH) 

4. Rulla's Address, Sheridan, 473 26. Cardinal Wolsey, Id., 601 

6. Richelieu t,j the King, . . . Bulwer, 474 £7 Hamlet to the I'layers, /d., 508 

6. Cromwi41 by Coffin of Charles I., Id., 476 28. ilamlet's Soliloquy, /rf., 50S 

7. "Virtue uf Great Examples, . . Byron, 476 29. Not ashamed of his Trade, . Morton, 504 

8. JVIariuo Kaliero to Cousinrators, Id., 477 30 The Union and Government, . Simm.?, oOl 

9. Marino Faliero's Dying Speech, . ld.,i7S 31. Culonna to the King, Skeil. aVi 

20. Catiline to his friends, .... Croly, 480 32. Address to the Swiss, . . . Schiller, 505 

n,' Catiline's Defiance, Id., 481 33. VVm. Tell in Wail for Gesler, . . Id., 509 

12. Pride of Ancestry, Id., 482 34 Wm. Tell's Kscape, Id., 511 

K. Lochiel's Warning, . . . Campbell, 483 35. Wallensteiu's Soliloquy, . . . Id., 512 

14. Van Artevelde's Defence, . . Taylor, 485 36. 15elief in Astrology, Id., 51.3 

15. Duly to One's Country, . . . . 3i«re. 486 37 Grief of Bereavement, /d., 514 

16. St. Pierre to Ferrardo, . . Knowtes, 487 38. Priuli and Jallier, Otway, 514 

17. Wm. Tell on Switzerland, .... Id., 488 39 Nothing in it, Mathews, 517 

18. Tell among the Mountains, . . . Id., 489 40. Muses at the Fair, Coyne, 519 

19. The Fractious .Man, . . . . Brueys, inti i} Van den Bosch and Artevelde, Tai^/or, 520 
flO. Balthazar and the Quack, . . Tobin. 491 42. Tlie Weathercock, . . . Allingham. 523 

21. Brutus and Titus, Lee, 492 43. Saladiu and Malek Adhel, 526 

22. Cato's Soliloquy, Addison, 495 44. Damon to Syracusans, . . . Banim, 530 



PART NINTH. 

COMIC AND SATIRICAL. 



Page 

1. Speech of Buzfuz, Dickens, 531 

2. Art of Book-keeping, .... Houd, 633 

3. Magpie and Jlonkey, . . . Yriarle, 534 

4. Rich Man and Poor, . Khemnilzer, 636 

6. Whittling, J. Pier/iont. 537 

a. City Men in the Country, . Holmes, 638 

7. Fuss at Fires, Anon., 639 

8. One Story 's Good till another is Told, 

Swain, 640 
». The Great Musical Critic, ...... 641 



Pag. 

10. Dramatic Styles, 64i! 

11. Merchant and Stranger, . H. Smith, MS- 

12 Victim of Reform, 544 

13. Not Fine Feathers make Fine Birds, 54d 
14 Culprit and Judge, . . Horace Smith, 548 

15. Jester Condemned to Death, . . . Id., 547 

16. Poet and Alchemist, Id., 547 

17 niindman's Buff, /</., 548 

18. Farmer and Counsellor, Id., 549 

19. Puff's Account of Himself, Sheridan, 650 



PART TENTH. 

MISCELLANEOUS. 



I Black Hawk to Gen. Street, 551 

9 Pushmauiha to Sec. of War, 552 

B Supposed Speech of Chief of Pscomtuc 

Indians, Everett. 652 

i Logan to Lord Dummore, 653 

1 MijraJ CosmetJca, . . . Horace Smith, 564 



6. Pauper's Death-bed . C. B. fiuthey, 564 

7. Hope, ' S tra)i h' .tiia^ng htA 

8. Death, Horaci Sr».itk., 55i 

9. Lachrymose Writers, U., 551 

10. The San jtuary, Jt, 66' 



^NDEX TO NAMES Of AUTHORS, ETC 



Paje 
IJElLi.'sa, Reply of, .... 108 

&CAUB, JfiH2), Supposed Speecb of, . . 288 

" " Conclusion, 'ZS9 

Adams, J. Q., The Declaration, 309 

" " " Washiufe'toa and Franklin, 310 

lOAMS, Sarah ?., Hope, 

Addison, Cato's Solildijuy, 495 

ffisCHiNES, Deuuiiciation of Demosthenes, 163 

IKENSIDE, The Mind of Man, 40 

" C<impensations of Imagination, 64 

&.LFRED, to his TriK.ps, 137 

A.LLINGHAM, The Weathercock, 523 

Allston', America to Britain, 438 

&.1IKS, Sauctilv of Treaties, 295 

" The British Treaty, 296 

Anonymous, Furtitude, 46 

" The Work-shop and Camp, . 101 

" Forgiveness, 470 

" Saladiii and Malek Adhei, . . 525 

" Fine Feathers and Birds, . . 546 

Antony*, Mare, on Cajsar'a Death, .... 127 

Austin, Chironomia, 32 

Attoon, Execution of Montrose, .... 435 

Baillib, Worth of Fame, 96 

Balaam, Prophecy of, 459 

Banim, Damon's Speech, 430 

Bakrb, Isaac, America's Obligations, . . 210 
" " Reply t(. Lord North, . . . 211 

Bayard, Freedom of J udges, 29S 

Bayly, T. II., The Pilot, 91 

Beattie, Life tieyond the Tomb, 469 

Beaufoy, Parliamentary Innovations, . . 208 
Beckwith, Spirit of the Age against War, . 49 

Belial, Address of, 131 

Bennett, California's Prospects, 398 

Berkeley, .\raerica, 452 

BETH0NE, Future Empire of our Language, 63 

BiNNEY, War, 312 

" The Sui)reme Court, 312 

Black Hawk, Siieech of, 551 

Board.ma.s, Prohlem for the U. S., . . . . 78 
BowRiN-G, Translation from Khemnitzer, . 636 

BaODaHAM, Lord, Translation 165 

" " Translation, . . . 167 

" " Fate of Reformers, . . . 255 

" " Parliament Reform, . . 256 

BaowNTNG, How News came to Ghent, . . 421 

BarsTS, The Fractious Wan, 489 

BacTDS, On Lucretia's Death, 107 

Bbutus, Marcos, On Cresar's Death. ... 126 
Bryant, The Battle Field, . ^_._. , . . 85 

Bulwer, Sir II., The 22d Dec, 381 

Bui.wER, (See Lytton.) 

Dttree, Magrijinimity in Politics, .... 216 

" American Enterprise, 216 

" American Taxation . 217 

" Despotism (jnngnieons, 218 

* ImpcKcliment of Hastings, .... 219 
' Proration against Hastings, ... 220 



BURKB, To Bristol Electors, 221 

" Msirie Antoinette, 22S 

Byron, Lord, Supposed Address toGrecis, 151 
" " The Death-penalty, .... 259 

" " Ball at Brussels, 439 

" '• The Dying Gladiator, ... 441 

" " Sennacherib, 443 

" " Great Examples, 476 

" " Faliero to Consjjirators, . . 477 

" " Faliero's Dying Speech, . . 478 

Caics Gracchus, Speech of, ... • ... 116 

Caics Marics, Speech of, 11.5 

Caluocn, Prospect of War, 321 

The Force Bill, 320 

" Purse and Sword, 321 

" Liberty the Meed, 322 

Campbell, Hallowed Ground, 91 

" Soldier's Dream, 147 

" Hohenlinden, 153 

" Song of Greeks, 154 

" Fall of Warsaw, 155 

" To the Rainbow, 445 

" Glenara, 446 

" Lochiel's Warning, ..... 483 

Canning, War with France, 246 

" Bank-notes and Coin, 247 

" Lord J. Russell's Motion, ... 248 

'■' Tiernev's Motion, 249 

" Defence of Pitt, 25C 

" Measm'es, not Men, 251 

" Balance of Power 252 

" Collision of Vices, 253 

Canuleios, On the Patricians, 121 

Carlyle. justice, 51 

'• Nature a hard Creditor, .... 73 

Cass, Precedents, 347 

Catiline, to his Army, 127 

" Last Harangue, 132 

" To the Gallic Consph-ators, ... 133 
" To his Friends, . ...... 482 

" Defiance to the Senate, .... 480 

Cato, Soliloquy, . 495 

ChaImers, False Coloring lent to War, . . 67 
Channing, Distinction of a Nation, ... 85 

" Great Ideas, 88 

Chapin, Science friendly to Freedom, . . 02 

" True Source of Reform, 78 

Chateaubriand, Nature Proclaims a Deity, 92 
Chatham, Earl of, ilei)ly to Walpole, . 193 
" " " Reply to GrenviUa, 198 

" " " Reconciliation, . . 20f 

" " " Repeal Claimed, ... 201 

" " " Lord North's INlinistry, 20S 

" " " Employing lud'ins, . 203 

" " " Consequences, . . 204 

* " " America, 205 

Child, Mrs. L. M., Speech of Otis, ... ^84 

Ohoate, National Hatreds, S4* 

" Birthdajr of Waahingtoo, . . H9 



INDEX. TO NAMES OF AUTHORS, ETC. 



Page 

CicKBO, Catiltie Denounced 168 

" CatiUue ExpeUed, 169 

" Verres Denounced, 170 

Clat, Fot the War of 1»13, 315 

" .fefferson Defended, 316 

" Military Insubordination, 316 

" Noblest Public Virtue, 31V 

" Expunging Resolution, 318 

" Independence of Greece, .... 319 

lSlemkns, Intervention, 348 

Clinton, Foreign Conquest, 301 

CoBDKN, American Vessels, 280 

CoLESiiGE, The Good Great Man, .... 87 

'- Chamouny, 467 

" Translations, . . 612, 613, 514 

Coi.UNS, B.o~i Sleep the Brave, . ... 120 
" Ode on the Passions, . . . . • 448 
OoMBE, On the Exercise of Speaking, ... 36 
Compilation, Religious Persecution, . . 209 
" Against Duelling, . ... 308 

Conrad, The Death of Taylor, ...... 454 

Cotton, Tu-raorrow, 52 

CowpER, Affectation in the Pulpit, .... 55 

" Translations, . . 108, 109, 110, 111 
Coyne. Moses at the Fau-, ... .... 519 

Crittenden, Government Extravagance, . 351 

Croker, Reply to Macaulay, 275 

" Perils of Reform, 275 

Ckolt, Death of Leonidas, 131 

" Catiline to the Conspirators, . . . 132 
" Catiline's Last Harangue, .... 133 

" The Crucifixion, 401 

" Seventh Plague of Egypt, .... 403 
" The Greek and Turkman, .... 450 

" Catiline to his Friends, 480 

" Catiline's Defiance, 481 

" Pride of Ancestry, 482 

ihlBLKAN, The Pension System, 244 

" Threats of Violence, 245 

" Religious Distinctions, 246 

" Liberty of the Press, 353 

" Mr. Rowan, 353 

" Habeas Corpus Act, 354 

" To Lfjrd Avonmore, 355 

OCSHlNQ, Sectional Services, 345 

" Agricultural Interest, 396 

Delavigne, Three Days of Columbus, . . 405 

Demosthenes, Against Philip, 159 

" Degeneracy of Athens, . . 160 

" Democracy Hateful to Philip, 161 

" Venality the Ruin of Greece, 162 

" Exordium on the Crown, . . 165 

" Public Spirit 166 

" Not Vanquished by Philip, . 167 

Dbwet, Nobility of Labor, 60 

DiCKBNS, Sijeech of Buzfuz, 531 

DiMOND, Sailiir-boy's Dream, 425 

Doddridge, Tlie Christian Life, 470 

DraKE, The American Flag, 148 

Elliot, The Press, 88 

" England, 90 

Emmkt, On being found Guilty, 357 

ENGL.4.ND, The Duellist, . 43 

Erskinb, Great Minds and Christianity, . 362 

Kverett, The Peace Congress of the Union, 42 

" American Experiment, .... 78 

" Dizzy Activities of the Times, . . 88 

« Relations to England, 386 

** ureat Examples, 387 

" Civilization of Afi-ica . . .337 

" Good of the Monument, .... 388 

" Supposed Indian Siieech, . . . 552 

Patkt Man's .Material Triumphs, .... 45 

fBNBLOS On Gesture, .32 

" Jelemach 13 t; the AUied Chiefs, 113 



Fox, The American War, 231 

" Washington's Foreign Polioy, . . 23* 

" Lilierty is Strength 237 

" Democratic Govermucwts, 23S 

" Partition of Poland, 239 

Franklin, On the Federal Constiturion, . 286 

" God Governs, 28? 

Fraysisnods, Truth. 37 

Galgacus, Speech of, 117 

Gaston, Party IntemperanM, 302 

Goethe, Sincerity the Soul of Eloquence, . 53 

Grattan, Irish Rights, 22.S 

" Reply to Flood, 224 

" National Gratitude, 22S' 

" Catblolic Disqualifications, . . . 229 
" Heaven on the Side of Prii<ciple, 226 

" Against Corry, 227 

" Union with Great Britain, . . . 228 
" The Catholic Question, .... 229 

" Religion ludejjendent, 230 

" Sectarian Tyranny, 231 

Greene, Baron's Last Banquet, 420 

Grey, Lord, Reform in Parliament, . . . 242 

Ghimke, The 5w(ird, . 92 

IIalleck, Marco Bozzaris 156 

Hamilton, On Government 290 

" The Federal Constitution, . . . 291 

Haynb, Reply to Webster, 339 

" The Sfuth in 1776, 340 

" The South in 1812, 341 

Heber, Forgive, 97 

Hector, His Rebuke, 109 

" His Exploit, 110 

" Slain, Ill 

Hemans, The Spartans' March, 119 

" The Greeks' Retm-n, 119 

" Bernardo del Carpio, 411 

" Casablanca, 412 

" Rocks of my Country, 413 

" The Two Homes, 418 

" Invocation, 414 

Henry, Patrick, Resistance, 281 

" " War Inevitable, .... 282 

" " Return of Fugitives, . . 283 

Hitchcock, Science Religious, 9» 

Hoffman, Fulton's Invention, 344 

Holmes, Old Ironsides, 439 

" City Men in the Country, . . . 558 

Hood, Art of Book-keeping, 533 

Hooker, Necessity of Law, 50 

Homer, Achilles' Reply, 108 

" Hector's Rebuke, 109 

" Hector's Exploit, 110 

" Hector Slain, Ill 

HoYT, The World for Sale, 452 

IIpghes, Belshazzar's Feast, 4C9 

IICGO, v.. The United States of Em-ope, . 56 
•' " Practical Religious Instruotion, . 186 

" " Necessity of Religion, 187 

" " Universal Suffrage, 188 

" " Liberty of the Press, 189 

" " Republic or Monai-chy, .... 19!) 

" " The Two Napoleons, 153 

" " The Death-penalty, 371 

" " Rome and Carthage, 471 

Hunt, Leigh, Abou Ben Adhem, 93 

" " The True King, 61 

IIusKissoN, The Conservative Innovator, . 243 

IciLius, On Viririnia's Seizure, 118 

Jackson, Union with Liberty, 311 

James, J. A., Inducements to Religion, . 83 
Jefferson, The Strongest Government, . 297 
Jeffrey, The Example of America, . 373 

Job, True Wisdom 482 

" A Nation's Strength, . •. - 4« 



INDEX TO NAMES OF AUTHORS, ETC. 



lOHNSOS, Dr. Fate of Charles XII., . . . 
" " The Wise Man's Prayer, . . 

Johnson, E., The Water Drinker, . . . . 
Johnson, K., Europe's Struggles, . . . . 
JONSON, Bks, Catiline to his Army, . . . 
Ssi.LOGO, Spartacus to the Gladiators, . . 
pCennedv, The Jiechaiiical Epoch, . . . . 

Bjtemxitzkr, Rich and Poor, 

King, Future of tlie U. 3., 

JDicwuE-s, J. S., Speech of Caius Gracchus, 
" " " Alfred to his Men, . . . 

" " " C;esar at the Kul)icon, . . 

" " " St. Pierre to Ferrardo, . . 

■' " " Wm. Tell on Switzerland, 

" " " Tell among the Mountains. 

K.NOX, The Curse of Cain, 

KoRNER. Battle-hymn, 

Kossuth. Appeal to the Hungarians, . . . 
" Contentment of Europe, . . . . 

" Hungarian Heroism, 

" In a .1 ust Cause, 

" Peace inconsistent, ....... 

Lamaetine, Eevolutionary Men, 

" Byron to the Gree'iS, . . . . 

" The Republic, 

Lee, For Indejiendence, 

Lee, Nathaniel, Brutus and Titus, . . . 

Legare, The U. S. Constitution, 

" On Iletui-ning to the U. S., . . . 

Livingston, Aristocracy, 

LiVT, Soipio to his Army, 

" Hannibal to his Army, 

" Titus Quii.tius to the People, . . . 
" Virginius against Claudius, . . . . 
" Canuleius against Patricians, . . . 

Logan, Speech of, 

Longfellow, Lines, 

" Excelsior, 

Lover, Never Despair, 

LowTH, Translation from Isaiah, . . . . 

L0NT, The Ship of State 

Lyons, Triumphs of English Language, . . 

" The Tempest Stilled, 

Lttton, Sib E. B.,The Bard's Summons, . 
" " " " Caradoc to Cymrians, . 

" " " " Damon and Pythias, . 

c. u u u .^Yie Battle, 

'• " " " Eichelieu to the King, . 

" " " " Cromwell at Coffin, . . 

Macaitlat, Icilius on Vu'gmia's Seizui'e, . 

" Battle of Ivry, 

" Irish Church, 

" Hours of Labor, 

" Ketorm to Preserve, 

" Men fit to be Free, 

«' Second Bill of Rights, . . . . 

•' Public Opinion and the Sword, 

" A Government should Grow, . 

" Reform irresistible, 

" Fate of Virginia, 

" Horatius at the Bridge, . . . 

tt..,'^AY, Cleon and I, 

" The Days tli..t are Gone, . . . . 
Mackintosh, England and America, . . . 

" Defence of Peltier, 

Madison, Innovations, 

Massfield, Lord, Present Popularity, . . 
" " Attempts to Bias, . . . 

Marullds, To the People, 

Massillon, Immortality, 

Mathews, Nothing in it, 

'dAzziNi, Address to Young Men, . . . . 

McDuFKiE, Popular Elections, 

Mc Lean, Moral Power, 

\lB;REDr7H, Frequent Executions 



SliCKiBWicz, The Moor's Revenge, .... 456 
Milton, The Saviour's Reply, ... . . 69 

" Moloch's Address, 12J 

" Belial's Address, 131 

'• Destruction of the Philistines, . . iOI 

'* Satan's Encounter with Death, . . 408 

" Hymn of our Fii-st ''areiits, . . . 464 

MiRABEAD, Against the Nobles, &c., . . . 171 

" On Necker's Plan, 172 

" Disobedience to the Assembly, 173 

" Reply, 174 

" On being Suspected, 175 

" Eulogium on Franklin, ... 177 

" Church and State, 177 

Mitford, Rienzi to the Romans, 138 

Montgomery, James, Love of Country, . . 72 

" The Common Lot, . 75 

'• " Patriot's Pass-word, 139 

Moore, The Torch of Liberty 424 

Mure, Duty to Country, • . . 486 

Morris, Judiciary Act, 299 

" Free Navigation, 300 

Morton, Not ashamed of his Occupation, . 504 

MouNTFORD, Plea for the Sailor, 385 

Napolron, To the Army of Italy, .... 150 

Naylor, American Laborers, 343 

Neelb, Where is he, 94 

NiCHOL, Day conceals, 44 

Norton, The Soldier from Bingen, .... 422 

Noyes, Translation from Job, S^ei 

" Translation — True Wisdom, . . .462 
" Translation from Psalms, . . . • 463 

O'Connell, Religious Liberty, 257 

" Irish Disturbance Bill, ... 258 

Osgood, Labor is Worship, 61 

Otis, James, Supposed Speech of, ... - 284 

Otwat, Priuli and Jaffier, 514 

Palmerston, Lord, Civil War, .... 265 

Pardoe, The Beacon Light, 77 

Patten, The Seminole's Detiance, .... 158 

Paul, Defence, 460 

Peabody, Moses, , 50 

Peel, Legislative Union, 279 

PiCHAT, Speech ofLeonidas, 107 

PiERPONT, Whittling, 537 

Pinkney, Disunion, 304 

Pitt, American War Denounced, .... 232 
" On the Censure of Ministry, . . . .i32 
" Attempt to make him Resign, . . 233 
" Barbarism of Ancient Britons, . . 2154 

Pope, The Order of Nature, .63 

" The Dying Christian, 469 

Prabd, Charade, 458 

Prentiss, S. S., Defalcations, ... . 342 

" " " Relief to Ireland, . .384 

Preston, Eloquence and Logic, ... 383 

Procter, Courage, 4S6 

PuLTENBY, Reducing the Army, 195 

Pushmataha, Speech of, 552 

Pym, End of Government, 1&2 

QuiNCY, The Embargo, 30a 

Quincy, J., Jr., British Aggressions, . . 382 

Randolph, E., E.xtent of Country, ... 293 

Randolph, John, British Influence, . . 306 

" " Greek Question, . 306 

" " Virginia Constitution, 307 

Regulus, Speech of, 105 

Richard, To the Princes of the Crasa.ie 140 

Richmond, To his Men, 141 

Rienzi, To the Romans, 138 

Robespierre, Against War, . . . 18C 

" Morality the Basis. . . 181 

" Last Speech 181 

Rousseau, Death, 6'1 

Rush. On the Voi< e, . . . ■ . T 



INDEX TO NAMES OF AUTH0K3, ETC. 



Pasre 

BrSKiN, tldlity )f the Beautiful, 39 

RcssBLL, Lord J., Parliament Keform, . . 266 

Ballust, Calus Marius, 115 

fJCHILLEB, Damon and Pythias, 427 

" The Bb -tie, 429 

« The Glove, 431 

« To the Swiss, 508 

« Teil in Wait for Gesler, .... 509 

" Tell's Escape, 511 

" %yallenstein's Soliloquy, .... 512 

« Belief in Astrology, 513 

" Grief of Bereavement, .... 514 

BOIMO, to his Army, 103 

BcoTT, SiE Walter, Princes of Crusade, . 140 

" " " Lochinvar, 415 

«' " " Marmion taking Leave, 416 
" " " Death of Marmion, . . 417 
" « " Death of Bertram, . . 418 

" " " Love of Country, . , . 419 

Segur, De, Utility of History, 56 

Berseant, Military Qualifications, .... 325 

Bhakspeare, Polonius to Laertes, .... 94 

" Marullus to the People, . . . 126 

" Brutus on Caesar's Death, . 126 

" Mark Antony, 127 

" Richmond to his Men, . . . 141 

" Henry V. to his Men, . . . 142 

" Brutus and Cassius, .... 500 

" Regrets of Drunkenness, . . 498 

" Cassius Instigates Brutus, . 500 

« Cardinal Wolsey, 501 

" Hamlet to the Players, . . 502 

" Hamlet's Soliloquy, .... 503 

Shea, The O'Kavanagh, 447 

Shelley, Peace and War, 437 

" Drones of the Community, . . . 472 
Sheil, Charges against Catholics, .... 360 

" Irish Aliens, 261 

" Irish Establishment, 262 

" Repeal of Union, 263 

" England's Misrule, 264 

" Colonna to the King, 507 

'Shekidan, Atheistic Government, . . . 240 

" Political Jobbing, 241 

" People and King, 241 

" BoUa to Peruvians, 473 



650 



PulTs Account of HiT^self, 

Bhirlet, Death's Pinal Conquest, .... 58 

SIMMS, The Union and Government, . . . 507 

Smith, Horace, Merchant and Strangei', . 543 

" " Culprit and Judge, . • . 546 

" " Jester Condemned, . . . 547 

" " Poet and Alchemist, . . . 547 

" " Blindman's Buff, .... 548 

" " Moral Cosmetics, .... 554 

" " Farmer and Counsellor, . 549 

" " Death, 556 

•' " Lachrymose Writers, . . 566 

" " The Sanctuary, 547 

Smith, Stdnbt, Taxes, 87 

" " Government Vigor, . . . 374 

" " Rejection of Reform, . . . 374 

Smith, W. R., Prosperity, 349 

eouTHET, Wat Tyler to the King, .... 146 
BoDTHET, Caroline B., Pauper's Death-bed, 554 

6PAETACU3, To the Gladiators, 123 

" To Roman Envoys, 124 

gpRAGliE, Art, 80 

Steele, Measure of Speech, 18 

Stockton, Flogging in the Navy, . . . 350 

Story, Out Duties, 71 

Stsafford, Earl oe, Defence 198 

}wAiN, 0- e Story 'a Good, &c 640 



Tacitus, Speech of Galgacus, . . . Ill 

Talfodrd, The Wa'ld, .... . 41 

" Charity, , . 84 

" Copyright, 278 

" Literary Property, 27i 

" International Copyright, . . . 278 

Taylor, What Makes a Hero, 68 

" Van Artevelde to Men of Ghent, . 145 
" Van Artevelde's Defence, .... 48S 
" Van den Bosch and Artevelde, . 62fl 

Telemachus, To the Allies, 113 

Thomson, Death Typified by Wmter, . . 83 

" Universal Hymn, 466 

TH0RLOW, Lord, Reply, 214 

Titus Qcintius, Sjieech of, 114 

ToBiN, Balthazar and the Quack, . . 491 

Tocqceville, De, Democracy, 185 

Tkelat, To the Peers, .... ... 183 

Uhland, The Passage, 455 

Vane, Against Richard Cromwell, .... 196 

Vergniaud, To the French, 178 

" Terrorism of Jacobins, . . . 179 

Verplanck, America's Contributions, . . 68 

Virginia, BaUad of, 432 

ViRGiNius, Against Claudius, 120 

ViLLEMATN, The Christian Orator, .... 64 

Walker, Rules of Inflection, 19 

" On Gesture, 33 

" Failure of his Method, 22 

Walpole, How to make Patriots, .... 190 

" Against Pitt, 197 

Washingi'on, To the Army, 150 

" France and the U. S., . . . 294 

" Foreign Influence, .... 294 

Wat Tyler, Speech of, 146 

Wayland, International Sympathies, . . 96 

Webster, Eloquence of Action, 63 

" Supposed Speech of J. Adams, . 288 

" Opposition, . 326 

" Moral Force, 327 

" Sympathy with South America, 328 

" The Poor and Rich, 329 

" Sudden Conversions, 330 

" Constitution Platform, .... 331 
" Resistance to Oppression, . . . 332 

" Peaceable Secession, 333 

" Clay's Resolutions, 333 

" Justice to the Whole, 334 

" Matches and over Matches,' . . 338 
" S. Carolina and Mass., .... 336 

" Liberty and Union, 338 

" Guilt cannot keep its own Secret, 369 
" To Revolutionary Veterans, . . 389 

" State Obligations 361 

" Fourth of July, 391 

" Apostrophe to Washington, . . 333 

" Power of Public. Opinion, . . .394 

" Standard of the Constitution, . 39"? 

Whately, Against Artificial Elocution, . 22 

White, J. Blanco, Sonnet, 46 

Wilkes, Bold Predictions, 213 

" Conquest of Americans, .... 213 

Wirt, Instigators of Treason, 366 

" Burr and Blennei'hassett, 367 

" Reply to Wickham 368 

Withington, To-day, 43 

Wolfe, Gkn., To the Army before Quebec, 147 

Wolfe, Charles, Defence of Poetry, . . 89 

" " Burial of Sir J. Moore, . 16l 

Yankee, To a Child, 67 

YocNG, Time's Midnight Voice, 7< 

" Frivolous Pleasures, 9" 

Yriartb, The Monkey and Magpie, . 63< 



THE 



STANDARD SPEAKEIl 



INTRODUCTORY TREATISE. 



I. OEATORY. 

Oeatoky, which ha^ its derivation from the Latin verb oro, signifying tt 
pleadj to beseech, may be defined the art of producing persuasion or convic» 
tion by means of spoken discourse. The word eloquence, in its primary sig- 
Dification, as its etymology implies, had a single reference to public speaking ; 
but it is applied by Aristotle, as well as ' y modern writers, to compositions not 
intended for public delivery. A similar extension of meaning has been 
given to the word rhetoric, which, in its etymological sense, means the art of 
the orator, hut now comprehends the art of prose composition generally. 

ORATORY AMONG THE ANCIENTS. 

It is apparent, from the speeches attributed by Homer to the chiefs of the 
niad, as well as by the commendations which he bestows on Nestor arid 
Ulysses for their eloquence, that the art of Oratory was early understood and 
honored in Greece. But it was not till Demosthenes appeared that Gre- 
cian eloquence reached its perfection. Demosthenes, who, by the consent of 
ill antiquity, was the prince of oratoi'S, still maintains his preeminence. Of 
his style, Hume has happily said : " It is rapid harmony, exactly adjusted to 
ihe sense ; it is vehement reasoning, without any appearance of art ; it is 
iisdain, anger, boldness, freedom, involved in a continued stream of argu- 
oaant ; and of all human productions, the orations of Demosthenes present to 
is the models which approach the nearest to perfection." It is related of 
bhis great orator, that, in his first address to the people, he was laughed at 
lind interrupted by their clamors. He had a weakness of voice and a stam- 
■ oiering propensity which rendered it difficult for him to be understood. By 
iramense labor, and an undaunted perseverance, he overcame these defects , 
ind subsequently, by the spell of his eloquence, exercised an unparalleled sway 
>ver that same people who had jeered at him when they first heard him speak 
in public. The speeches of Demosthenes were not extemporaneous. There wei*e 
no writers of short-hand in his days ; and what was written could only come 
from the author himself. 

After the time of Demosthenes, Grecian eloquence, which was coeva! with 
Grecian liberty, declined with the decay of the latter. In Rom«' the military 
vpirit 80 incompatible with a high degree of civil freedom, long checked tb« 



16 



THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 



growth of that popular intelligence which i& the only iienr^ent in which tb< 
noblest eloquence is nurtured. Rhetoricians were banlshe^i from the country 
as late as the year of the city 592. A few years subsequent lo this p^riotlj 
\he study of Oratoi-y was introduced from Athens ; and it at length found a 
zealous disciple and a consummate master in Cicero, whc^e fame is second 
only to that of his Athenian predecessor. The main causes to which the 
extraordinary perfection of ancient Oratory is to be ascribed are the great 
pains bestowed on the education of the young in this most difficult art, and 
the practice among speakers of preparing nearly all their finest orf-dorj 
before delivery. 

MODERN ORATORY 

In modern times, Oratory has not been cultivated with so much care aS 
among the ancients. The diffusion of opinions and arguments by mean,^ of 
the Press has, perhaps, contributed in some degree to its neglect. A speake'.' 
is now mainly known to the public through the Press, a.nd it is often move 
important to him to be read than heard. Still, the power of Oratory in repub- 
lican countries must always be immense, and the importance of its cultivation 
must be proportionate. We see it flourish or decay according to the degre/ 
cf freedom among the people, and it is a bad sign for a republic when Oratory 
Is slighted or undervalued. It was not till France began to throw off the 
jrammels of her monarchical system, that Fhe produced a Mirabeau. Her 
parliamentary annals will show that the eloquence of her National Asaembl/ 
nas been in proportion to the predominance of the element of constitutional 
freedom in her government. 

The struggle against incipient despotism in England, which resulted "in the 
execution of King Charles the Fii-st, was productive of some great bur'jts o;' 
eloquence from Vane, Pym, Eliot, and other champions of popular rights ; 
whose speeches, however, have been strangely slighted by the majority of 
English critics. The latter part of the eighteenth century was illumined by thf 
genius of Chatham, Pitt, Burke, Fox, Slieridan, and Grattan ; all of who'ij 
were roused to some of their most brilliant eitbrts by the arbitrary course of 
government towards our ancestors of the American colonies. Ireland is weU 
represented in this immortal list. Her sons have ever displayed a true genius 
for Oratory. 

The little opportunity afforded for the cultivation of forensic or senatorial 
eloquence by the different governments of Germany has almost entirely 
checked its growth in that country ; and we may say the same of Italy, Spain 
and Portugal, and most of the other countrie' of Europe. To the pulpit 
Oratory of France, the illustrious names of Bo.5Suet, Bourdaloue and Massillon, 
have given enduring celebrity ; and in forensic and senatorial eloquence, 
France has not been surpassed by any modern nation. But it is only in her 
intervals of freedom tliat her senatorial eloquence reaches its high note. 

The growth of eloquence in the United States has been such as to inspire ths 
hope that the highest triumphs of Oratory are here to be achieved. Already 
we have produced at least two orators, Patrick Henry and Daniel Webster, to 
bom none, since Demosthenes, in the authority, majesty and amplitude, of 
.jeir eloquence, can be pronounced superior. In proportion to the extent cf 
our cultivation of Oratory as an art worthy our entire devotion, must be our 
success in enriching it with new and precious contributions. And of the 
fv wer of a noble Oratory, beyond its immediate circle of hearers, who can 
doubt .' " Who doubts .' " asks Mr. Webster, " that, in our own struggle for 
freedom and independence, the majestic eloquence of Chatham, the profound 
reasoning of Burke, the burning satire and irony of Barre, had influence on 
our fortunes in .\merica ? They tended to diminish the confidence of th« 
Britinh ministry in their hopes to subject us. There was not a reading man 
irho did not struggle more boldly for his rights when tho(i« exhilaratinf 



ELOCUTION. 17 

soondfl, uttswsd in the two houses of Parliament, reached him from across th« 



SUCCESS IN ORATORY. 

For the attainment of the highest and most beneficent triumph.s of tht 
orator, no degree of labor can be regarded as idly bestoweil. Attention, 
energy of will, daily practice, are indispensable to success in this high art 
The author of " Self-Formation " remarks : " Suppose a man, by dint of me"! 
itation on Oratory, and by liis consequent conviction of its importance, to 
have wrought himself up to an energy of will respecting it, — this is the life 
and soul of his enterprise. To carry this energy into act, he should begin 
with a few sentences from any speech or sermon ; he should commit them 
thoroughly, work their spirit into his mind, and then -proceed to evolve thai 
spirit by recitation. Let him assume the person of the original speaker, — put 
himself in his place, to all intents and purposes. Let him utter every sen- 
tence, and every considerable member of it, — if it be a jointed one, — distinctly, 
sustainedly, and unrespiringly ; suiting, of course, everywhere his tone and 
emphasis to the spirit of the composition. Let him do this till the exercise shall 
have become a habit, as it were, a second nature, till it shall seem unnatural 
to him to do otherwise, and he will then have laid his corner-stone." 

Quintilian tells us that it is the good man only who can become a great 
orator. Eloquence, the selectest boon which Heaven has bestowed on man, 
can never ally itself, in its highest moods, with vice. The speaker must be 
himself thoroughly sincere, in order to produce a conviction of his sincerity in 
the minds of others. His own sympathies must be warm and genial, if he 
wo'ila reach and (juicken those of his hearers. Would he denounce oppres- 
bIou ' His own heart must be free from every quality that contributes to 
make the tyrant. Would he invoke mercy in behalf of a client ? He must 
aimself be humane, generous and forgiving. Would he lash the guilty .'' His 
own life and character must present no weak points, to which the guilty may 
point in derision. And not only the great orator, but the pupil who would 
fittingly interpret the great orator, and declaim what has fallen from hib lips, 
must aim at similar qualifications of mind and heart. 

DIVISIONS OF ORATORY. 

The Greeks divided discourses according to their contents, as relating to 
precept, manners, and feelings ; and as therefore intended to instruct, to 
please and to move. But, as various styles may oftentimes be introduced into 
the same discourse, it is difficult to make a strictly accurate classification. 
The modern division, into the eloquence of the Pulpit, the Bar, and the Senate, 
is hardly more convenient and comprehensive. 

Oratory comprehends the four following divisions : invention, disposition, 
8lociit'/jn, and delivery. The first has reference to the character of the sen- 
timents employed ; the second, to their arrangement, and the diction in which 
tliey are clothed ; the third and fourth, to the utterance and action with 
fthiih they are communicated to the hearer. It is the province of rhr;toric to 
give rules for the invention and disposition of a discourse. It is with Iba 
attar two divisions of Oratory that we have to deal in the present treatise 

11. ELOCUTION, 

Elocution is that pronunciation which is given to words when they are 
arranged into sentences, and form discourse It includes the tones of voice, 
the utterance, and enunciation of the speaker, with the proper accompani- 
ments of countenance and gesture. The art of elocution may there We b* 



l8 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

iefineJ to be that system of rules whieh tea.ches us to pronounce written oi 
Extemporaneous composition with justness, energy, variety and ease ; and, 
iigreeal»ly lo this definition, good reivding or speaking may be considei'ed aa 
that species of delivery wliicli not only expresses the sense of the words so as 
to be Varely understood, but at the same time gives them all the ferce, be&aty 
*iid \ariety, of which they are susceptible. 

ELOCUTION AMONG THE ANCIENTS, 

rhi; Greeks and Romans paid great attention to the study of elooutioa, 
I'hey distinguished the different qualities of the voice by such terms as hard, 
smooth, sharp, clear, hoarse, full, slender, flowing, flexible, shrill, and rigid. 
They were sensible to the alternations of heavy and light in syllabic utter- 
ance ; they knew the time of the voice, and regarded its quantities in pronun- 
ciation ; they gave to loud and soft appropriate places in speech ; they per- 
ceived the existence of pitch, or variation of high and low ; and noted further 
that the rise and fall in the pronunciation of individual syllables are made by 
a concrete or continuous slide of the voice, as distinguished from the discrete 
notes produced on musical instruments. They designated the pitch of vocal 
sounds by the term accent ; making three kinds of accents, the acute ('), the 
grave C), and the circumflex(*), which signified severally the rise, the fall, 
and the turn of the voice, or union of acute and grave on the same syllable. 



MODERN THEORIES OF ELOCUTION. THE MEASURE OF SPEECH. 

For the modern additions to elocutionary analysis, we are indebted aainly 
to the labors of Steele, Walker, and Dr. James Rush of Philadelphia. 

The measure of speech is elaborately explained by Mr Steele, in his " Pros- 
odia Rationalis." According to his analysis, measure, as applied to speech, 
consists of a heavy or accented portion of syllabic sound, and of a light or 
unaccented portion, produced by one effort of the human voice. In forming 
the heavy or accented syllable, the organs make a stroke or beat, and, however 
instantaneous, are placed in acertain position, from which they must be removed 
before they make another stroke. Thus, in the repetition of fast, fast, there 
must be two distinct pulsations ; and a pause must occur betwixt tlie two, to 
enable the organs to recover their position. But the time of this pause may 
be filled up with a light syllable, or one under remission ; thus, faster , faster , 
occupy the same time in the pronunciation as fast, fast. This remiss or light 
action of the voice may extend to two and thi-ee syllables, as in circumstance, 
infmilely, &c. The stroke or pulsative effort of the voice, then, can only be 
on one syllable ; the remission of the voice can give several syllables after the 
pulsation. This pulsation and remission have been illustrated by the plant- 
ing and raising of the foot in walking ; hence the Thesis and Arsis of the 
Greeks. The first is the pulsative, the second the remiss action. Now, apart 
from the pauses of passion and connection, there must be frequent pauies 
arising from the nature of the organs of speech ; these are denoted in exata- 
ples marked, according to Steele's system, by the figure *] , and the pulsatiTS! 
and remiss syllables by *.• and ... It has been said that the pulsative effiipt 
ean be made only on one syllable ; if the syllable have extendeil quantity, if 
may be pronounced both with the pulsative effort and die aw.-iy in the remis- 
pion ; but if it is short in quantity, a pause must occur before the pronun. 
jlation of the next syllable. One syllable, then, may occupy what is called 
a measure, the voice being either prolonged, or the time being made up with 
a pause. This pause, as already remarked, is denoted by the figure *]; a 
repetition of the same figure is used to denote the longer pauses, which are 
determined by passion, or the intimacy and remoteness of tlie sense. Steele'8 
aysiem has bees adopted by several teachers of elocution ; by Mr Chapmaai 



KLEMENTS OF ELOCUTION, Si 

ka hifl Rhythmical Grammar, and by Mr. Barber, in his Grammar of Eloca 
dm The following lines are marked according to Mr. Steele's plan 

Arms and tho | man I | sing | *^| | who*^ | forced by | fate. 
Hail I noly | light '"', | offspring of | Heaven | first *! 1 born. | 

WAIiKEK'3 ELEMENTS OF ELOCUTION. INFLECTIONS OF TIIE VOICS. 

Towards the close of the last century, Mr. John Walker, author of the excel* 
Aiflt " Critical Pronouncing Dictionary" which bears his name, promulgated 
his analysis of vocal iudection. He showed that the primary division of speak- 
ing sounds is into the upward and downward slide of the voice ; and, that what- 
ever other diversity of time, tone or force, is added to speaking, it must 
necessarily be conveyed by these two slides or inflections, which are, there- 
fore, the axis, as it were, on which the power, variety, and harmony of speak- 
ing turn. In the following sentence : — "As trees and plants necessarily 
arise from seeds, so ai-e you, Antony, the seed of this most calamitous war," 
— the voice slides up at the end of the first clause, as the sense is not per- 
fected, and slides down at the completion of the sense at the end of the sen 
tence. The rising slide raises expectancy in the mind of the hearer, and the 
ear remains unsatisfied without a cadence. Walker adopted the acute accent 
(') to denote the rising inflection, and the grave accent (') to denote the fall- 
ing inflection ; as thus — 

Does Caesar deserve fkme''or blame' 1 

Lvery pause, of whatever kind, must necessarily adopt one of tnese two 
uifiections, or continue in a monotone. Thus, when we ask a question without 
the contrasted interrogative words, we naturally adopt the rising inflection on 
the last word ; as, 

Can Csesar deserve blame' 1 Impossible' ! 

Here blame — the last woi'd of the question — has the rising inflection, con 
trary to the inflection on that word in the former instance ; and impossible, 
with the note of admiration, the falling. Besides the rising and falling inflec- 
tion. Walker gives the voice two complete sounds, which he terms circumflexes : 
the first, which he denominates the rising circumflex, begins with the falling 
and ends with the rising on the same syllable : the second begins with the 
rising and ends with the falling on the same syllable. The ) isi?ig circum- 
fl,ex is mai-ked thus, "; the falling, thus, ". The mo?iotone, thus marked, 

, denotes that there is no inflection, and no change of key. 

Having explained the inflections, Walker proceeds to deduce the law of 
delivery from the structure of sentences, which he divides into compact, ioo.te, 
direct periods, inverted periods, &c. By the term se' ies, he denotes an 
enumeration of particulars. If the enumeration consists of single words, it 
is called a simple series; if it consists of clauses, it is called a compouni 
teries. When the sense requires that there should be a rising slide on tbfi 
!a8t particular, the series is called a commencing series ; and when the eerien 
requires the falling slide on the last particular, it is termed a concluding 
teriei The simple commencing series is illustrated in the following sentsBce 
ha-ving two (1' 2') members : — 

"Honor' and shame' from no condition riaa." 

The simple roncluding series is illustrated in the following sentence of fotu 
(V 2 3 4' ) members- — "Remember that virtue alone is bmor\ glory 
veaUh , vnd happiness^ " 



K THE STANDARD SPEAKiHl. 

Among the Kuies laid down by Walker and his folic W€ ra are the following. 
which we select as the most simpte. The pupil must vn* take them, ]j.(,wever 
«» an infellible guide. Some are obvious enough ; but to others tb« excep- 
dons are numerous, — so numerous, indeed, that they womd he a burtJjeusom* 
t,hai;ge to the memory. The Rules, however, may be serviceable in cases 
where the reader desires another's judgment in regavd to the inflection of 
voice that is most appropriate . 

Rule I. ^Vhen the sense is finished, the falling inflection takesflace oa, 
" Nothing valuable can be gained without labor\ ' ' 

II. Ilia compact sentence, the voice slides up where the meaning begini 
to be formed ; as, " Such is the course of nature', tliat whoever lives long, 
must outlive those whom he loves and honors." 

There are many exceptions to this rule. For instance, when ?,n emphatic 
woisl is contained ui the first part of tlie compact sentence, the filling inflec- 
tion takes place ; as, " He is a traitor to his country^ he is a f.'aitor to the 
human kind', he is a traitor to Heaven\ who abuses the talen:s which God 
has given him." 

III. In a loose sentence, the falling inflexion is required ; as, " It is of 
the last importance to season the passions of a child with devo'tion ; which 
seldom dies in a mind that has received an early tincture of it" 

IV. In a compound coiinnencing series, the falling inflection takes place 
on every member but the last ; as, " Our disordered i;'sarts\ oiir guilty pas- 
sions', our violent prejudices', and misplaced desires', ais tha instruments of 
the trouble wliich we endure." 

V. In a compound concluding series, the falling ivf.ectijn takes place on 
every member except the one before the last; as, " Ch\>ic8r most frequently 
describes things as they ai-e" ; Spenser, as we wish' thai io be ; Shakspeare, 
as they would' be ; and Milton, as they ought' to be." 

"VT. hi a series of commencing members forming a crmax, the last mem- 
ber, being strongly emphatic, takes a fall instead of a rue ; as, " A youth', a 
boy', a child', might understand it." 

VII. Literal interrogations asked by pronouns or adverbs {or questions 
requiring an immediate answer) end loith the falling iriflection ; as, 
■" Where are you going' ? What is your name' ? " Questio7is asked by verbs 
require the rising inflection, when a literal question is asked ; as, " Are you 
coming' ? Do you hear' ? " 

To these rules the exceptions are numerous, however. Emphasis breaks 
through them continually ; as, 

AVas ever woman in this humor wooed' 1 
Was ever woman in this humor won' 1 

Vin. The inflection which terminates an exclamation is regulated by the 
common rules of inflection. This ride is, of course, brokeit through by pas- 
tion, which has slides and notes of its own. As a general rule, it may be 
iiated that exclamations of surprise and indignation take a rising slide in 
a loud tone ; those of sorrow, distress, pity a7id love, the rising slide in a 
gentle tone; and those of adoration, awe and despair, the falling infleZ' 
Hon. 

IX. Any intermediate clause affecting the sen e of the sentence {generally 
termed the modifying clause) is pronounced ir a different key from that in 
which the rest of the sentence is spoken. As th intermediate words are fre- 
juently t.ne pivot on which the sense of the entence turns, the mind in 
directed to it by a change of voice. The voict .-inks at the beginning cf tht 
:luuse, hut rises gradually towards the conchis 37i ; as, " Age, in a virtuous' 
person, carries in it an authority which makes A preferable to all the ple8«« 
ares of youth." 

X. l^he ParerMhesis is an i7itermediate clause, not lecessary no the sense 
a it pronounced in a different key from that in which the sentence is prv 



PHILOSOPHY OF THB HUMAN VOICE. 21 

nounred, tn order to distinguish it from the body of the sentence .■ and it is 
pronounced more quickly, that the hearer may not be diverted by it into for- 
gttttne the connection o^ tiie sentence. It generally terminates with the 
injtectton of the clai^se preceding it. When it contains a strongly smphotie 
word, the falling injiection is necessary : 

Let us (since life can little more su^/^.. 
Than }ust to look about us and to die) 
Expatiate free o'er all this scene of man; 
A mighty maze ! but not without a plan. 

XI. Jin echo, or the repetition of a word or thought introductoi y to si ine 
partictdars, requires the high rising injiection, and a long pause after it. 
This is frequently the language of excitement ; the mind recurs to the excit- 
ing idea, and acquires fresh i?itensity from the repetition of it ; as, " Can 
Parliament be so dead to its dignity and duty as to give its sanction to 

measures thus obtruded and forced upon it ? Measures', my Lords, wldob 

have reduced this late flourishing Kingdom to scorn and contempt." 

XIL When words are in contradistinction to other ivords, either expressed 
or understood, they are pronounced, with emphatic forck , when the contra 
distinction is not expressed, the emphasis must be strong, so as to surgesi 
the word in contradistinction ; as, " How beautiful is nature in her wildest* 
scenes ! " That is, not merely in her soft scenes, but even in her wildest 
Bcensa. " It is deplorable when age* thus errs." Not merely youth, but age. 

XIIT J? climax must be read or pronounced with the voice progressively 
ascerd^ g to the last member • accompanied with the increasing energy, ani 
fl^atiOft r pathos, corresponding with the nature of the subject. 

See, what a grace was seated on this brow ! 
Hyperion's curls'; the front of Jove himself; 
An eye like Mars', to threaten and command'; 
A station like the herald Mercury", 
New lighted on a heaven-kissing ^111*; 
A combination' and a form' indeed. 
Where every god' did seem to set his seal", 
To give the world assurance of a man\ 

rush's philosophy of the human voice. 

I>r. Bush, whose " Philosophy of the Human Voice " presents the mo««t 
minute and scientific analysis of the subject that has yet appeared, adopts an 
arrangement of the elementary sounds of our language into tonics, subtonics, 
atonies and aspirates. He distinguishes the qualifies of the voice under the 
following heads : the Orotund, wiiich is fuller in volume than the common 
voice ; the Tremor ; the Aspii-ation ; the Guttural ; the Falsette ; and the 
Whisper. The complex movement of the voice occasioned by the union of 
the rising and falling slides on the same long syllable he calls a wave. It- 
is termed by Steele and Walker the circumflex accent. Dr. Rush illustravat 
the slides of the voice by reference to the Diatonic scale, consisting of a suo- 
cession of eight sounds, either in an ascending or descending series, ane! 
embracing seven prosiniate intervals, five of wiiich are Tones, and two Semi- 
tones Each sound is calletl a Note ; and the changes of pitch from any oae 
note to another are either Discrete or Concrete, and may be either rising cr 
falling. Concrete changes of Pitch are called slides ; and of these movements 
there aie appropriated to speech the slides through five different intervals, — 
the Semitone, the Second, the Third, the Fifth, and the Octave. By a careful 
analysis of the speaking voice, Dr. Rush shows that its movements can be 
measured and set to the musical scale ; and that, however various the combi- 
nation? of tl'.ese -^ocal movements may at first pippear, they may readily be 



22 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

fedaced to sb;, called Phrases of Melody. These are the Monoto.ie, the Biaing 
and Falling Ditone, the Rising and Falling Tritone, and the Alternate Phrase, 
By a more careful analysis, we ascertain that some of the simpler styles of 
delivery take their character from the predominance of some one of these piirafiea 
of melody. Thus we have the Diatonic Melody, the Melody of the Monotone, !■/ 
the Alternate Phrase, and of the Cadence ; and to these are added the Chro 
taatic Melody which arises from the predominance of the Semitone, and the 
Brcken Melody. 

INSUFFICIENCY OF ARBITRARY SYSTEMS OF ELOCUTION. 

It TTOuld be impossible, in the space we have given to the subject, to do Just- 
ice to any one of these ingenious analyses; and it would be quite unprofitabls 
to enumerate the many systems that have been deduced from them up to the 
present time. The important question is, Do they establish, severally or collect- 
ively, a positive science of elocution, which will justify the pupil in laboring 
to master it in its details, and to accomplish himself according to its rules of 
practice ? We believe there are very few students, who have given much 
time and attention to the subject, who will not render a negative reply. The 
shades of expression in language are often so delicate and undistinguishable, 
that intonation will inevitably vary according to the temperament of tha 
speaker, his appreciation of the sense, and the intensity with which he entei'S 
into the spirit of what he utters. It is impossible to establish rules of mathe- 
matical precision for utterance, any more than for dancing. Take the first line 
of Mark Antony's harangue : 

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears ! 

An ingenious speaker will give, at one time, the falling inflection, and at 
another the rising, to the word coimtryinen ; and both modes shall seem 
equally expressive and appropriate. Nay, he will at one moment place the 
chief stress upon lend, and the next upon ears ; and he will make either mode 
of rendering the verse appear appropriate and expressive. We do not deny 
that there are passages in regard to which there can be little doubt as to the 
inflection and emphasis to be employed; but these are precisely the passages 
in reference to which rules are not needed, so obvious is the sense to every 
intelligent reader, and so unerringly does nature guide us. 

" Probably not a single instance," says Archbishop Whately, "could be 
found, of any one who hits attained, by the study of any system of instruction 
that has appeared, a really good delivery; but there are many — probably 
nearly as many as have fully tried the experiment — who have by this mesms 
been totally spoiled." There is one principle, he says, radically erroneous, 
which must vitiate every system founded on it, — the principle, "that, in 
order to acquire the best style of delivery, // is requisite to study analyti- 
cally the emphasis, tones, pauses, degrees of loudness, 4'C., which give the 
proper effect to each passage that is well deli\'ered; to frame Rules founded on 
the observation of these; and then, in practice, deliberately and carefully to 
conform the utterance to these rules, so as to form a complete artificial system 
of Elocution." " To the adoption of any such artificial scheme there are 
three weighty objections : first, that the proposed system must necessarily bfl 
impe feet ; secondly, that if it were perfect, it would be a circuitous paJh to 
the object in view ; and thirdly, that even if both these objections were 
removed, the object would not be effectually obtained." 

The first of those objections, which is not denied by the most strenuooj 
advocates of the artificial systems, would seem to be all-sufiBcient. Any number 
of Rules must needs leave the subject incomplete, inasmuch as the analysis of 
sentences, in their stmcture, and their relations to vocal inflection, may ba 
carried to almost any extent. Few Rules can be laid down to which many 
wnforeseen exceptions cannot be made. Mr. Walker, in his " Rhetor'.ci 



ARBITRARY S76TEMg OF ELOCDTJ-^N. 23 

firammar," puW-shed some years after his " Elements o(, ElocvLtk- had 
been before ilie public, admits the practical failure of the systems fouj ' <d on 
his analysis. "The sanguine expectations I had once eutertainod," b<5 days, 
•• that tills Analysis of the Human Voice would be received by tl'e learned 
with avidity, are now over." And, his imagination kindling at a ray of hope, 
he adds : " It is not improbable that the active genius of thp French, who ai"« 
io remaikably attentive to their language, may first adopt this vehicle" of 
infltruction in reading and speaking. But more tlian forty years have passad 
BDce this suggestion was thrown out; and the French, so quick to adopt 
bnproveiiients based on scientific analysis, have been as backward as Walker'a 
IIVFC countrymen in applying to practical uses his discovery. But allhougb 
'ihe rfcieuce of Europe has weighed these ai'tificial systems in the balance, and 
found them wanting for practical purposes of instruction, the hope seenis to 
be entertained that Young America will not yet a while concur in tlie judg 
ment. 

"It is surely a circuitous path," says Archbishop Whately, "when the 
learner is directed first to consider how each passage ought to be read (that 
is, what mode of delivering each part of it would spontaneously occur to him, 
if he were attending exclusively to the matter of it) ; then to observe all the 
modulations, &c., of voice, jvhich take place in such a delivery; then to note 
these down, by established marks, in writing ; and, lastly, to pronounce 
according to these marks." " Such instruction is like that bestowed by 
Moliere's pedantic tutor upon his Bourgeois GentilhoniDie, who was taught, 
to his infinite surprise and delight, what configurations of the mouth he 
employed in pronouncing the several letters of the alphabet, ■which he had been 
accustomed to utter, all his life, without knowing how." 

The labors of Steele, Walker and Rush, ai'e important, and their analyses 
of vocal expression may always be studied with profit. But the attempt to 
establish a practical system of elocutionary rules, which may be a consistent 
and reliable guide to the pupil in reading aloud and in declamation, has been 
eontinually baffled. The subject is not one that, in its nature, admits of a 
resolution into rigid analytical rules. Thougiit and language being as various 
&s the minds of men, the inflections of the human voice must partake of their 
plastic quality; and passion and genuine emotion must break through all the 
rules wliich theorists can frame. Anatomy is a curious and a profitable 
?tudy; but what if we were to tell ^he pugilist that, in order to give a blow 
with due effect, he ought to know how the muscles depend for their powers 
of contraction and relaxation on the nerves, and how the nerves issue 
from the brain and the spinal marrow, with similar facts, requiring, per- 
haps, a lifetime of study for their proper comprehension, — would he not 
laugh at us for our advice ? And yet, even more unreasonable is it to say, 
that, to accomplish ourselves in reading and speaking, we must be able tc 
classify a sentence under the head of " loose" or " compact," and their sub- 
divisions, and then to glibly enunciate it according to some arbitrary rule, to 
T^hich, the probalDility is, there are many unsurmised exceptions. When 
Bimund Kean thrilled the heart of a great audience with the tones cf ind*' 
scribatle pathos which he imparted to the words, 

" Othello's occupation 's gone," 

^ '^jroald have puzzled him to tell whether the sentence was a " simple declai-- 
ati^?" or an " imperfect loose." He knew as little of " intensive slide?," 
"bend.?," "sweeps," and "closes," as Cribo, the boxer, did of osteology. 
He studied the intonation which most touched his own heart ; and he gave 
it, reckless of rule?, or, rather, guided by that paramount rule, which seeks 
tha highest triumphs of art in elocution in the most genuine utterances of 
nature. 

Attention is the «ecret of success in speaking, as in other departments of 
huitwn effort Si/ .isaao Newton was one day asked how be had discovereJ 



24 THE STANDARD SPEi KER. 

?he <rae system, of the universe. He replied, " By contiaually fhinkiaf 
apou it." He was frequently heard to declare that, "if he had done tht 
world any services, it was due to nothing but industry and patient thought, 
that h« kept the subject under consideration constantly before him, and 
waited till the first dawning opened gradually, by little and little, into a full 
and clear light." Attention to the meaning and full etfect of what we utter 
in >«,-olamation will guide us, better than any system of marks, in a right dis- 
position of emphasis and inflection. By attention, bad habits are detected 
and repudiated, and haf py graces are seized and adopted. Demostnenes had 
a habit of raising one shoulder when he spoke. He corrected it by sus- 
pending a sword, so thai the point would pierce the offending member when 
snduly elevated. He had a defective utterance, and this he amended by 
practising declamation with pebbles in his mouth. 

Practice in elocution, under the guidance, if possible, of an intelligent in- 
structor, will lead to more solid results than the most devoted endeavors to learn, 
by written rules, what is above all human attempt at " circumscription and 
confine." Possess your mind fully with the spirit of what you have to utter, 
and the right utterance will come by practice. If it be a political speech of a 
remarkable character, acquaint yourself * with the circumstances under which 
it was originally uttered; with the history and peculiarities of the speaker; 
and with the interests which were at stake at the time. Enter, with all the 
warmth of your imaginative faculty, into the speaker's feelings; lose yoar- 
§elf in the occasion; let his words be stamped on your memory; and do 
not tire in repeating them aloud, with such action and emphasis as attention 
will suggest and improve, until you have acquired that facility in the utter- 
ance which is essential to an effective delivery before an audience. If it be a 
poem which you have to recite, study to partake the enthusiasm which the 
author felt in the composition. Let the poetical element in your nature be 
aroused, and give it full play in the utterance of " thoughts that breathe, 
and words that burn." 

The practice of frequent public declamation in schools cannot be too much 
commended. The advantages of such training, if not immediaV., will be 
recognized later in life. In awakening attention, inspiring confidence, acquaint- 
ing the pupil with the selectest models of Oratory, cou)pelling hira to try hia 
voice before an audience, and impressing him with a sense of the importance 
of elocutionary culture, the benefltw which accrue from these exercises are 
inestimable. The late .John Quincy Adams used to trace to his simjile habit 
of reciting, in obedience to his father, Collins' little ode, " How sleep the 
brave," &c., the germ of a pati-iotic inspiration, the effects of which he felt 
throughout his public career ; together with the ear^y culture of a taste for 
tlocution, which was of great influence in shaping his future pursuits. 

DIVISIONS OF ELOCUTION. 

Elocution Is divided into Articulation and Pronunciation , Inflecnon asd 
Modulation ; Emphasis ; Gesture. 

ARTICULATION AND PRONUNCIATION. 

Ccrrect articulation is the most important exercise of the voice, and jf the 
iWgans of speech. A public speaker, possessed only of a moderate voice, if he 
articulate correctly, will be better undei-stood, and heard with greater pleasure, 
than one who vociferates, without judgment. The voice of the latter may, 
indeed, extend to a considerable distance, but the sound is dissipated in con- 

P As an assistance to the pupil in carrying out this recommendation, the anthoa 
has, Jn many instances, appended illustrative notes, or briei bi-'grapliical sketchwk 
ifO Uie extracts from the speeches ot g.'-aat orators. 



r 



PRONUNCIATION. 25 

fosion. Of the fornvftr voiae, not the smallest vibration is wasted every stroke is 
lerceived at the utmost distauce to which it reaches, and hence it may oft«D 
appear to penetrate even further than one which is loiid, but bally articulated 
" In just articulation," says Austin, " the words are not harried over, not- 
precipitated syllable over syllable. They are delivered out from the lips, as 
beautiful coins, newly issued from the mint, deeply and accurately impressed, 
perfectly finished, neatly struck by the proper organs, distinct, sharp, in duA 
succession, and of due weight." 

Pronunciation points out the proper sounds of vowels and consonants, anA 
the distribution of accent on syllables. Articulation has a reference to the posi- 
tions and movements of the organs which are necessary to the production of 
those sounds with purity and distinctness; it also regulates the proportion 
of the sounds of letters in words, and of words in sentences. Articulation and 
pronunciation may thus be said to form the basis of elocution. An incorrect or 
slovenly pronunciation of words should be carefully avoided. The most elo- 
quent discourse may be marred by the mispronunciation of a word, or by a 
vicious or proviucial accent. The dictionaries of Worcester or Webster, in 
which the pronunciation is based m.iinly on the accepted standard of Walker, 
should be carefully consulted by the pupil, wherever he is doubtful in regard 
to the pronunciation of a word, or the accent of a syllable. These dictiona- 
ries also contain ample rules for the guidance and practice of the reader in 
the attainment of a correct pronunciation of the rudimental sounds of the 
vowels and consonants. They siiould be carefully studied. A speaker who 
continually violates the ear of taste by his mispronunciation must never hopi 
to make a favorable impression upon an educated audience. 

DEFECTS IN PRONUNCIATION. 

The omission to sound the final g in such words as moving, rising, — as if 
they were spelled movin, risin, — is one of the most frequent defects which 
inattentive readers exhibit. A habit also pyevaiis of slurring the full sound of 
the italicised letter in such words as belief, polite, political, w/iisper, wAich; 
several, every, deliverer, traveller; history, memorable, melody, philosophy; 
society, variety, &c. ; also of muffling the r in such woi'ds as alarm, reform, 
arrest, warrior; omitting the e in the last syllable of sudden, mitten, &c.; 
corrupting the a in musical, social, whimsical, metal, &c. ; the ( in certainly, 
fountain, &c. ; the last o in Boston, notion, &o. ; giving e the sound of u in 
momentary, insolent, and the like; and a the same sound in jubilant, ar''o- 
gant, &c. ; giving the sound of er to the final termination of *uch words as 
feWow, potato, foWoiu, hallow ,• giving to r in war, warlike, partial, &c , the 
sound of w ; prolonging the sound of w in law, flaw, as if there were an r 
tacked on at the end of the words; in such words as nature, creature, legis- 
Inture, &c., failing to give the full sound to the u and e of the last syllable, 
as they are sounded in pure, sure, &c. ; giving to the a in scarce the sound 
of u in purse ; slurring the final o in occasion, invention, condition, &c. ; giv- 
ing the sound of u to the*a in Indian; giving the sound of uni to the final m 
in chas?n, patriotis/«, &c. ; the sound of?' to the e in got^dness, matchless; the 
sound Qtjie to the /mZ of awfwl, beautiful, and the like. The e in the first 
Byllable of such words as terminate, mercy, perpetrate, &c., ought, accoyding 
to the stricter critics in elocution, to have the sound of e in merit, terror, &o 
A habit of speaking through the nose, in the utterance of such words as noo 
"oiu, is prevalent in New England, ana should be overcome by all who wocudi 
not make themselves ridiculous in educated society. 

Ottar COD mon defects in pronunciation are thus satirized by Ilolmea 

" Learning condemns, beyond the reach of hope, 
The careless churl that speaks of soap for soap ; 
'Her edict exiles from he^ fair abode 
rbe olcwniyh voice that utters road for road ; 



aC THE STANDARD 

MSB stern ta bim who calls his coat a c5ai. 
And steers his boat, believing it a boat ; 
Siie pardoned one, — our classic city's boast,— 
Who said, at Cambridge, most instead of most ; 
But knit her brows, and stamped her angry foot. 
To hear a teacher call a root a root. 

"Once more ; speak clearly, if you speak at all ; 
Carve every word before you !et it fall ; 
Don't, like a lecturer or dramatic star. 
Try over-hard to roll the British R ; 
Do put your acaents in tho proper spot ; 

Don't — let mo beg j'ou — don't say " llow 1" for " Vtliat ?" 
And, when you stick on conversation's bur?, . 
Don't strew your pathway with those dregful wr.' / " 

In the beginning of a course of elocution, it is necessary that a minutv attea 
Hon be paid to the producing of the exact sounds on the iin;i,octr.teJ syllables, 
and sJioagb this may be censured by many, as aft'ected and ^he:>tri?al, it must- 
for a due, be encouraged. Most persons will give the sound of a in accissori 
distinctly aud purely, as the accent is on it; but, if the accent is on tho secono 
syllable of a'word beginning in the same way, as in accord, the greater numbei 
of people would give the ac an obscure sound, as if the 'vord were accord. The 
same remark holds with regard to the initial ab, ad, if, ag, al, am, an, ar, ap, 
as, at, av, az, con, col, &c. ; e, de, re; i, in, o, oh, op, &c. Thus, the o in omen, 
thee in ex-aci, will be sounded correctly by most persons; but, in opinion, 
proceed, and emit, as the accent is shifted, these vowels would be generally 
sounded upinion, pruceed, and imit. Through the same neglect, the second 
in nobody is not sounded like the o in body, as it should be; and the a in cir- 
cumstances is different from the a in circumstantial; — the former words being 
sounded noh'dy, circuir nces. The termiuational syllables ment, ness, lion, 
ly, ture, our, ous, en, U, tn, &c., are also generally given impurely, the 
attention being directed principally to the previous accented syllable ; thus, 
the word compliments is erroneously given the sound of conipli/uints; nation, 
that of naslni; only, onle (the e as in met) ; nature, natcfinr ; valor, valer ; 
famous, famuss ; novel, 7iovl ; chicken, chick n ; Latin, l.atn. Sometime* 
the concluding consonant is almost lost in the unaccented syllable, while it id 
preserved in tlie accented ; thus, in the noun subject, in which the accent is on 
the first syllable, the I is scarcely sounded by many who would sound it in 
the verb to subject, in which the accent is on the last syllabic. In d and / 
final, the articulation is not completed until the tongue comes olT from the roof 
of the mouth. Distinctness is gained by this attenti#n to the quality of unac- 
cented vowels, and to the clear and precise utterance of the consonants in 
unaccented syllables. Care must be taken, however, that the pupil do not 
enunciate too slowly. The motions of the organs must frequently be rapid in 
their changes, that the due propoi'tions of syllables may be preserved. 

As emphasis is to a sentence what accent is to words, the remarks which 
hav'3 been made on accented and unaccented syllables apply to words empkatic 
and unemphutic. The unemphatic words are also apt to become inarlicu]atfi 
from t'le insufficient force which is put upon them, and the vowel-sounds, a< 
Sn can as, and the consonant d in and, &c., are changed or lost. In certais 
words such as my, mine, thy, thine, you, you.r, the unemphatic prcnuncia- 
&cn is different from the emphatic, being sounded me, min, the, thin, ye, yur- 
as, </iis II min own, this is yur own. In solemn reading, this abbreviated 
pronunciati\)n is avoided, and the words ^re pronounced as they are whejj 
single. 

MODULATION OK MANAGEMENT OF THE VOICB. 

The modulation of the voice is one of the most important requisites ia i 
public speaker. Even to the private reader, who wishes to execute his tasl 



MODULATION OF THE VOICU. 27 

Iriti pleasure to others, it is a necessary accomplishment A v:,icp which 
keeps long in one key, however correct the pronunciation, deliftate thj inflec- 
don, and just the emphasis, will soon tire the hearer. The voice has been 
eonsidered as capable of assuming three keys, — the low, the high, and the mid- 
dle. This variety is undoubtedly too limited ; but, for the first lessons of a 
Student, it may be useful to regard the classification. A well -trained voice 
is capable of ranging in these with various degrees of loudness, softness, stress, 
ecntinuity, and rapidity. 

These ditferent Stater of the voice, properly managed, give rise to thai strik ■ 
Ing and beautiful variety which is essential to eluuueut delivery. The ditFei 
ence between loud and soft, and high and low tones, should be yiell understood 
Piano i\nd forte have no relation to pitch or key, but to force and quantity 
and, when applied to the voice, they relate to the body or volume which tlie 
speaker or singer gives out. We can, therefore, be very soft in a high note, 
and very loul in a lew one ; just as a smart stroke on a bell may have ex 
actly the same note as a slight one, though it is considerably louder. It ought 
to be a first principle, with all public readers and speakers, rather to begin 
below the common level of the voice than above it. A good practical rule for 
the speaker, in commencing, is to speak as if he would have his voice reach 
those in the centre of the hall. He thus will begin on a level tone, from which 
he may easily rise. Some abrupt forms of speech require, however, a loud 
tone of voice, even at the commcaoement, to give them their due eflect; as, for 
instance : " How long, Catiline ! win th-ou abuse our patience.'" 

The right assumption of the keys oonstitutes what may be termed the feeli7ig 
of a composition; — without it, acting is lifeless, and argument tiresome. It ia 
a want of this variety which distiiiguishes the inanimate speaker. His inflec- 
tion may be correct, and have even wliat has been termed a musical cadence; 
but, without this variety of key, be must tire his audience. The effect of a 
transition from the major to the minor- key in music is not more striking than 
4he variety which the voice will occasionally assume. A change of key is gen- 
erally necessary at the commencemept of a new sentence. When, in the pre- 
oeding sentence, the voice has sunk dovvn towards the close, in the new sentence 
it soEietLmes recovers its elasticity, and sometimes it continues in the depressed 
note on which the preceding sentence terminates. 

In common conversation, our tone is light, and appears to come from the 
tip ; in serious and impressive speaking, it appears to be formed further back, 
and is accompanied by a greater tension of the muscles of the throat. The 
deeper formation of the voice is the secret of that peculiar tone which is found 
in actors and orators of celebrity. Some have this voice niturally; but the 
greater number must acijuire it by assiduous practice. The pupil must be 
required to speak " further down in the throat." This peculiar voice, which 
ia a/^'.npted to the expression of wliat is solemn, grand and exciting, " is formed 
in those parts of the mouth posterior to the palate, bounded below by the root 
of the tongue, above by the comuiencemeut of the palate, behind by the most 
posterior part of the throat, and on the sides by the angles of the jaw. Th® 
tongue, in tlie mean time, is hollowed and Irawn back; and the mouth ia 
opene'.i In such a manner as to favor, as much as possible, the enlargement of 
ib« cavity described." 

LOW KEY. 

To acquire strength and distinctness in this key, the remarks in the last 
paragraph will be found useful. Nothing more unequivocally marks the fin- 
ished speaker than a command over the low notes of his voice ; it is a rare 
accomplishment, but -jne which is a most valuable principle in Oratory 
Strengthening the low notes, after forming them, should be a great object wit.b 
the master in Elocution ; but it too often happens that the acquisition of tt 
<«reaniing high note is reckoned the desideratum in speaking. ' Th? difficult_^ 
if being distinct aui audible in the low key is at first discourag'ug ; hutprao 



iS THE STANDARD SPEAB.JER. 

tice will, in most cases, attain the object. Sur^iles in poetry foiTU pnf» 
examples for gaining a habit of lowering the voice. 

He above the rest, 
In shape and gesture proudly eminent. 
Stood like a tower. His form had yet rx>t lost 
All her original brightness, nor appeared 
Less than archangel ruined, and the excess 
Of glory obscured : as when the sun new-risen 
Looks through the horizontal misty air 
Shorn of his beams ; or from behind the moon, 
In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds 
On half the Nations, and with fear of change 
Perplexes Monarchs, 

Tlie following passage, in which King John takes Hubert aside, and t<;mpli 
feim tfl undertake the death of Arthur, requires, in the enunciation, a full, aud' 
bis tone of voice, in a low key : 

K. John. I had a thing to say, — but let it go; 
The sun is in the Heaven, and the proud day, 
Attended with the pleasures of the world, 
Is all too wanton and too full of gauds 
To give me audience. If the midnight bell 
Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth, 
Sound one unto the drowsy race of night: 
If this same were a church-yard where we stand. 
And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs; 
— Or if that thou couldst see me without eyes. 
Hear me without thine ears, and make reply 
Without a tongue, using conceit alone, — 
Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words, — 
Then, in despite of broad-eyed watchful day, 
I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts. 
But, ah ! I will not, — yet I love thee well ; 
And, by my troth, I think thou lov'st me well ! 

Hub. So well, that what you bid me undertaka. 
Though that my death were adjunct to my act. 
By Heaven, I 'd do 't ! 

K. John. Do I not know thou wouldst 1 
Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye 
On that young boy: I'll tell thee what, my friend. 
He is a very serpent in my way. 
And wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread. 
He lies before me ! Dost thou understand me 1 
Thou art his keeper. 

Hub. And I '11 keep him so 
That he shall not offend your majesty 

K. John. Death. 

Hub. My Lord 1 

K. John. A grave. 

Hub. He shall not live. 

K. John. Ekiough. 
I could he merry now. Hubert, I love thee: 
Well, I '11 not say what I 'ntend for thee; 
Remember. Shakapeare's King John, Act iii Stmt i 

MIDDLE KEY. 

TiiiB 19 the key of common discourse, and the ke/ in which » speaker mun 
Efiaally deliver the greater part of his speech. Sheridan points out a aimplt 
ynethod of acquiring loudness ii this key. " Any one, who 'h rough habit, 
^ fallen into a weak utterance, cannot hope suddenly to chaii^e it he mail 



MODULATION OJ THB VOICE. 2S 

(k it by degrees, nud constant practice. I would there ''ire rcoommend it tc 
him that he should daily exercise himself in reading or repeating, in the heai-ing 
of a friend ; and that, too, in a large room. At first, his friend should stand 
at such a distance only as the speaker can easily reach, ijci his usual manner of 
delivering himself. Afterwards, let him gradually increaoe his distance, anJ 
the speaker will in the same gradual proportion increase the force of his 
voice." In doing this, the speaker still keeps on the same tone of voices 
but gives it with greater power. It is material to notice, that a well-forme Jl 
middle tone, and even a low one, is capable of filling any room; and that th« 
neglect of strengthening the voice in these leads a speaker to adopt the higli, 
shouting note which is often heard in our pulpits. Hamlet's address to tho 
players should be mostly delivered in this middle key. 

HIGH KEY. 

Tills key of the voice, though very uncommon in level speaking or read 
ing, ought to be practised, as it tends to give strength to the voice generally, 
and as it is frequently employed in public speaking and declamation. Every one 
can speak in a high key, but few ilo it pleasingly. There is a compressinn 
necessary in the high notes, as well as the middle and low; this compression 
distinguishes the vociferous passion of the peasant from that of the accomplished 
actor or orator. The following passage will bear the most vigorous exercise of 
the high key : 

Fight, gentlemen of England ! fight, bold Yeomen ! 

Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head; 

Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood: 

Amaze the welkin with your broken staves ! — 

A thousand hearts are great within my bosom; 

Advance our standards, set Upon our foes; 

Our ancient word of courage, fair St. George, 

Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragon.s ' 

Upon them ! Victory sits on our helms ! 

It should be borne in mind, that it is not he who speaks the loudest who 
can be heard the furthest. "It is a curious fact in the history of sound," 
Bays a scientific observer, " that the loudest noises always perish on the spot 
where they are produced, whereas musical notes will be heard at a great 
distance. Thus, if we approach within a mile or two of a town or village in 
which a fair is held, we may hear very tixintly the clamor of the multitude, 
but more distinctly the organs, and other musical instruments, which are playet* 
for their amusement. If a Cremona violin, a real Amati, oe played by !.«) 
side of a modern fiddle, the latter will sound much lojider than the former; 
but the sweet, brilliant tone of the Amsxti will be heard at a distance the other 
cannot reach. Dr. Young, on the authority of Durham, states that at Q bral- 
tar the hum'»n voice may be heard at a greater distance than that oi any 
Dther animal; thus, when the cottager in the woods, or the open plain, w.'she? 
to call hrr husband, who is working at a distance, she does not shout, but 
pitches her voice to a musical key, which she knows from habit, and by thai 
means reaches his ear. The loudest roar of the largest iion could not 
penetrate so far. Loud speakers are seldom heard to advantage. Burke's 
mce is said to have been a sort of lofty cry, which tended as much as the 
fcrmality of his discourse in the House of Commons to send the members to 
their dinner. Chatham's lowest whisper was distinctly heard. • His middle 
tones were sweet, rich and beautifully varied,' says a writer, describing the 
orator; 'when he raised his voice to the highest pitch, the House was com- 
pletely filled with the volume of sound; and the effect was awful, except 
when he wished to cheer or animate — and then he had spirit-stirring notes 
which were perfectly irresistible. The terrible, however, was his peculiar 
power. Then the Hc-js« sank before him; still, he (vas dignified, and. wonder 



so 



THE SXANBARD SPEAKER. 



fill as was his eloquence, it was attended with thi3 impLrtant effect, tii«A it 
possessed every one with a conviction that thei-e was something in him flaw 
khan his T/ords, — that the man was greater, infinitely greater, Ujao tbn 
orafccr.' " 

MONOTONE. 

A monotone is intonation without change of pitch: that is, preserving a 
fiiliiess of tone, without ascent or descent on the scale. It is no very difficult 
matter to be loud in a high tone; but to be loud and forcible in a low 
tone, requires great practice and management; th's, however, may be fa mili- 
tated by pronouncing forcibly at first in a low monotone. A monotone, though 
in a low key, and without force, is much more sonorous and audible than when 
the voice slides up and down at almost every word, as it must do to b« 
various. This tone is adopted by actors when they repeat passages aside. It 
conveys the idea of being Inaudible to those with them in the scene, by being 
In a lower tone than that used in the dialogue; and, by being in a monotone, 
becomes audible to the whole house. The monotone, therefore, is an excellent 
vehicle for such passages as require force and audibility in a low tone, and in 
the hands of a judicious reader or speaker is a perpetual source of variety. It 
is used when anything awful or sublime is to be expressed, as 

! when the last account twixt Heaven and earth 
Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal 
WitnesB against us to damnation. 

The language of the ghost in Hamlet is mostly uttered in a deep monotone. 
Hhe following passage from Ion is partly given in a solemn monotone : 

Dark and cold 

Stretches the path, which, when I wear the Crown, 

1 needs must enter; — the great Gods forbid 
That thou should.tt follow it J 

The monotone is varied, in the it»l-cized part, to the tone of passionat* 
emotion and supplication. 

TIME. 

Modulation includes, also, the considoration of ti7ne, which is natural m the 
pronunciation of certain passages. The combinations, then, of pitch, force 
and time, are extremely numerous : thus, we have low, loud, slow; low, soft, 
slow ; low, feeble, slow ; low, loud, quick, &c. ; middle, loud, slow ; middle 
soft, slow ; middle, feeble, slow, &c. Thus, we have a copious natural lan- 
guage, adapted to the expression of every emotion and passion. 

IMITATIVE MODULATION. 

Motion and sound, in all their modifications, are, in descriptive reading, 
more or less imitated. To glide, to drive, to swell, to flow, to skip, to whirl, 
to turn, to rattle, &c., all partake of a peculiar modifiiiation of voice. Thi* 
jspression lies in the key, force, and time of the tones, and the forcible pro- 
Oiimciation of certain letters which are supposed more particularly to exprcst 
t^ imitation. 

Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows. 
And the smootli stream in smoother numbers flows; 
But when loud surges lash the sounding shore. 
The hoarse, rough verse should like the torrent roK 
When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw, 
. 1>« line too labors, and the words move slow ; 
Not 80, when swift Camilla scours the plain, 
Fliee o'or the unbending cor-\, and skims alons the main. 



SI 



Orammatical punctuation does not always demand a pause , and the tim« 
»f the pauses at various points is not correctly stated in many books on read- 
ing. In some treatises, the pause at the period is described as being uni- 
formly four times as long as that at a comma ; whereas, it is regulated entirely 
Dy the nature of the subject, the intimacy or remoteness of Ibe connection 
between the sentences, and other causes. "I am convinced," says Mr. 
Ki.owles, " that a nice attention to rhetorical punctuation has an extremely 
miachieTois tendency, and is totally inconsistent with natui-e. Give tht 
Btinse of what you read — mind is the thing. Pauses are essential only where 
the omission would obscure the sp/ise. The orator, who, in the act of delivf r* 
Ing himself, is studiously solicitous about parcelling his words, is sure to 
leave the best part of his work undone. He delivers words, not thoughts 
Deliver thoughts, and words will take care enough of themselves." 



By emphasis is meant that stronger and fuller sound of voice, by which, ii\ 
reading or speaking, we distinguish the accented syllable, or some word, on 
which we design to lay particular stress, in order to show how it affects the 
rest of the sentence. On the right management of the emphasis depend the 
whole life and spirit of every discourse. If no emphasis be placed on any 
word, not only is discourse rendered heavy and lifeless, but the meaning left 
■iften ambiguous. If the emphasis be placed wrong, we pervert and confound 
the meaning wholly. In order to acquire the proper management of the 
emphasis, then, the great rule, and, indeed, the only unexceptional rule, is, 
that the speaker or reader study to attain a just conception of the force and 
spirit of those forms of expression which he is to pronounce 

To give a common instance : such a simple question as this, " Do you ride 
to town to-day ? " is capable of no fewer than four acceptations, according as 
the emphasis is ditferently placed on the words. If it be pronounced thus : 
Do you ride to town to-day ? the answer may naturally be, No ; I send my 
servant in my stead. If tlius : Do you ride to town to-day ? Answer. No •, 
I iiJtend to walk. Do you ride to town to-day? No; I ride out into the 
Mds. Do you ride to town to-day 7 No; but I shall to-morrow. And there 
B yet another expression that this little sentence is capable of, which would 
oe given by placing the emphasis on the first word, do, being a necessary 
enfoi-cement of the question, if the person asked had evaded giving a reply : 
thus : "Do you ride to town to-day ? " The tone implying : Come, tell me at 
once, do you, or do you not 1 

There are four obvious distinctions in the sound of woras, with respect tc 
force. First, the force necessary for the least important words, such as con- 
junctions, particles, &c., which may be called feeble or unaccented. Second 
the force necessai-y for substantives, verbs, &c., which may be called accented. 
Third, that force wlv'ch is used for distinguishing some words from others, 
commonly called emjjhasis of force. Fourth, the force necessary for emphasis 
of sense. As opposition is the foundation of all emphasis of pense, whatever 
words are contrasted with, contradistiur;uished from, or set in opposition to, 
caQ another, they are always emphatic. Hence, whenever there is antithesis 
in the sense, whether words or clauses, there ought to be emphasis in the pr(>- 
Fiu-nciation. 

The variations of emphasis are so numerous as to defy the fom^aticn 
of ruloS) that can be appropriate in all cases. Give a dozen well-traineo 
slocutioaists a sentence to mark emphatically, and probably no two woul<.f 
perform the task precisely alike. 

What though the field be lost ? 
All is not lost ; the unconquerable w, \ 
And studv if 'eDengc immortal ha'e. 



9ra THE STANTDAIID SPEAKEK. 

And courage never to submit or yield, — 
That glory never shall His wi'ath or might 
Extort from rru. 

Ths following speech of Othello is an example of what ss *«rmei oumtxlAtivs 
emphasis : 

If thou dost slander her and torture me. 

Never pray more ; abandon all remorse; 

On horror's head horrors accumulate ; 

Do deeds to make Heaven weep, all earfh amazed — 

For nothing canst thou to damnation add 

Greater than this ! 

III. GESTUKE. 

Gesture, considered as a just and elegant adaptation of every part of the 
6ody to the nature and import of the subject we are pronouncing, has always 
Deen considered as one of the most essential parts of Oratory. Cicero says, 
that its power is even greater than that of words. It is the language of 
nature in the strictest sense, and makes its way to the heart without the 
atterance of a single sound. I may threaten a man with my sword by 
speech, and produce little eifect ; but if I clap my hand to the hilt simulta- 
oeously with the threat, he will be startled according to the earnestness of the 
jKJtipn. This instance will illustrate the whole theory of gesture. According 
to Demosthenes, action is the beginning, the middle, and the end of Oratory. 

To be perfectly motionless while we are pronouncing words which require 
force and energy, is not only depriving them of their necessary support, but 
rendering them unnatural and ridiculous. A very vehement address, pro- 
nounced without any motion but that of the lips and tongue, would be a bur- 
lesque upon the meaning, and produce laughter ; nay, so unnatural is this 
total absence of gesticulation, that it is not very easy to speak in this manner. 
As some action, therefore, must necessarily accompany our words, it is of the 
utmost consequence that this be such as is suitable and natural. No mattei 
how little, if it be but akin to the words and passion ; for, if foreign to them 
it counteracts and destroys the very intention of delivery. The voice 'anc 
gesture may be said to be tuned to each other ; and, if they are in a diiferent 
key, as it may be called, discord must inevitably be the consequence. 

"A speaker's body," says Fenelon, "must betray action when there ia 
movement in his words ; and his body must remain in repose when what he 
utters is of a level, simple, unimpassioued character. Nothing seems to mf 
80 shocking and absurd as the sight of a man lashing himself to a fury in the 
utterance of tame things. The more he sweats, the more he freezes my very 
blood." 

Mr. Austin, in his " Chironomia," was the first to lay down laws for ths 
regulation of gesture ; and nearly all subsequent writers on the subject have 
borrowed largely from his work. He illustrates his rules by plates, showing 
the different attitudes and gestures for the expression of certain emotions. 
Experience has abundantly proved that no benefit is to be derived from the 
etady of these figures. They only serve as a subject for ridicule to boys; and 
ars generally found, in every volume in use, well pencilled over with satirical 
marks or mottoes, issuing froia the mouths of the stiti-looking gentlemen whfl 
are presented as models of grace and expression to aspiring youth. 

The tbllosving is an enumeration of some of the most frequent gestures, t« 
which the various members of the body contribute : 

Tke Head and Face. The hanging down of the head denotes shame, oK 
grief The holding it up, pride, o-^ ",ourage. To nod forward, implies assent 
To toss the head back, dissent. The inclination of the head implies bashful 
fUtiess or languor. The head is averted in dislike or hoiTor. It leans fop 
»«pi in attention. 



GESTUIIK AND ATTITODE. 83 

Tf.e Eyts. The eyes are raised, in prayer. They weep, la sorrow. Burn. 
(D anger. They are cast on vacancy, in thought. They are thrown in different 
directions, in doubt and anxiety. 

The Anns. The ana is projected forward, in authority Both arms are 
iprcad extended, in admiratfbn. They are held forward, in imploring help 
rUey both fall suddenly, in disappointment. Folded, they lenote thc^ightful- 

BQ83 

Tie Hands. The hand on the head indicates pain, i>v distress. On tic 
fjes, shame. On the lips, injunction of silence. On the breast, it appeals to 
tonscience, or intimates desire. The hand waves, ov flourishes, in joy, oi- con 
'empt. Both hands are helt' supine, or clasped, in prayer. Both descend 
prone, in blessing. They are clasped, or wrung, in affliction. The outsti-etclied 
bands, with the knuckles opposite the speaker's taue, express fear, abhoi-rence, 
rejection, or dismissal. The uuts^i-etched hands, wit li tlie palms toward the fac€ 
Cif the speaker, denote approval, acceptation, welcoming, and love. 

The Body. The body, held erect, indicates steadiness and courage. Thrown 
back, pride. Stooping forward, condeSL.'ision, or compassion. Bending, 
reverence, or respect. Prostration, the utmost humility, or abasement. 

The Lower Limbs. Their firm position signifief courage, or obstinacy 
Bended knees, timidity, or weakness. Frequent change, disturbed thoughts 
They advance, in desire, or courage. Retiie, in av rsion, or fear. Start, in 
terror. Stamp, in authority, or anger. Kneel, in ■iubmission and prayer. 

Walker says that we sliould be careful to let th( stroke of the hand which 
marks force, or emphasis, keep exact time with ine force of pronunciation 
that is, the hand must go down upon the enij hatic word, and no other 
!Khus, in the imprecation of Brutus, in Julius Cse'^ar 

When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous. 
To lock such rascal counters fnjm his friends, 
Be ready, Gods, with all jour thunderbolts. 
Dash him in pieces ! 

Here, says Walker, the action of the arm which enforces the emphasis ought 
to be so directed that the stroke of the hand may be given exactly on the 
word dash ; this will give a concomitant action to the organs of pronunciution, 
and by this means the whole expression will be greatly augmented. 

Archbishop Whately contends, on the contrary, that the natural order of 
action is, that the gesture should precede the utterance of the words. " An 
omotion, struggling for uttez-ance, produces a tendencj' to a bodily gesture, to 
express that emotion more quickly than wordii can be framed; the words fol' 
iow as soon as they can be spoken. And this being always the case with a real, 
ftarnest, unstudied speaker, this mode, of placing the action foremost, gives 
''if it be otherwise appropriate) the appearance of earnest emotion actually 
present in the mind. And the reverse of this natural order would alone be 
wjfficient to convert the action of Demosthenes himself into unsuccessful and 
ridiculous mimicry. ' ' 

W'!\ere two such authorities clash, the pupil's own good taste must give the 
^i»2 'o his decision. 



'•" The gracefulness of motion in the tiuman frame," says Austin, in hifl 
Chiroaomia, "consists in the facility and security with which it is executed: 
sud the grace of any position consists in the facility with which it can be 
varied. Hence, in the standing figure, the position is graceful when the 
weight of the body is principally supported on one leg, while the other is so 
placed as to be ready to relieve it promptly, and without ettbrt. Tiie foot which 
sustains the principal weight luust be so placed that a perpendicular line, lei 
Skli from the pit of the neck, shall pass through the heel of that foot. Of 
wurse. Ui>j centre of gravity of the body is, for the time, in that line; wliils^ 
3 



84 



THE STANDAEP SPEAKER. 



the other font R.<!sists n;erely for the purpose of keeping the body balanced la 
ihe positicn, and of preventing it from tottering. In the various positions of 
the feet, care is to be taken that the grace which is aimed at be attended with 
simplicity. The position of the orator is equally removed from the awkward- 
ness of the rustic, with toes turned in and knees bent, and from the affectation 
of the dancing-master, whose position runs to the opposite extreme. The 
orator is to adopt such positions only as consist with manly and simple graca 
The toes are to be moderately turned outward, but not to be constrained; the 
limbs are to be disposed so as to support the body with ease, and to admit of 
flowing and graceful movement. The sustaining foot is to be planted firmly; 
the leg braced, but not contracted ; the other foot and limb must press lightly, 
and be held relaxed, so as to be ready for immediate change and action. In 
changing the po,sition-s of the feet, the motions are to be made with the utmosi 
simplicity, and free from the parade and sweep of dancing. The speaker must 
advance, retire, or change, almost imperceptibly; and it is to be particularly 
observed that changes should not be too frequent. Frequent change gives the 
idea of anxiety or instability, both of which are unfavorable." Nothing can bf 
more unbecoming than for an orator to be constantly tripping from one sidt 
m the other, on the stand, and walking so fast as to seem to outrun his speech 
Such an orator was said, anciently, to run after a cause, instead of pleading 
it; and it is stated of Flavins Virginius, that he asked a speaker, very much 
addicted to this habit, how many miles he had spoken that day. Of an orator, 
whose f ivorite action was rising on tiptoe, it was said, that he must have beeD 
accustomed to address his audience over a high wall. 

The bow of the speaker to his audience, previous to his speech, should be 
graceful and dignified; as far removed from a cai-eless, jerking abruptness, as 
from a formal and unnecessary flourish. 

REGULATION. OJT THE HANDS, ARMS, &C. 

In Oratory, the regulation of the hand is of peculiar importance, not only aa 
it serves to express passion, but to mark the dependence of clauses, and to 
interpret the emphasis. All action without the hand, says Quintilian, is weak 
and crippled. The expressions of the hand are as varied as language. It 
demands, promises, calls, dismisses, threatens, implores, detests, fears, ques- 
-tions, and denies. It expresses joy, sorrow, doubt, acknowledgment, depend- 
ence, repentance, number and time. Yet, the hand may be so employed as 
not only to become an unmeaning, but an inconvenient appendage. One 
speaker may raise his hands so high that he cannot readily get them down. 
One, cannot take them from his bosom. One, stretches them above his head; 
and another lays about him with such vigor, that it is dangerous to be 
within his reach. 

In using the arms, a speaker should give his action in curves, and should 
bear in mind that tlilferent situations call for more or less motion of the limbs. 
The fingers of the hand should not be kept together, as if it were intemied by 
nature that they siiould unite; nor should they be held forth unmeaningly, 
like a bunch of ra^iishes; but they should be easily and naturally bent. 

The speaker who truly feels his subject will feel it to his very finger-tips, 
lud these last will take unconsciously the right bend or motion. Study well, 
therefore, what you have to say, and be prepared to say it in earnest. 

The hand and arm should usually be moved gracefully in semi-circles, 
»x.'^ept in indicative jjassages, as thus : " I charm thy life ! " " Lord Cardi 
cai, to you I fspcak ! " To lay down rules as to how far the arms may ht 
extended, or to what elevation the hand may be raised, would be supei-fluons. 
A. spoil ker should avoid throwing hrs arms up, as if he were detbrmined to 
fling them from him; and he should avoid letting them fall with a virlenos 
Butficijfl'. to bruise his thigh; yet it is indispensable that the arm should. &1] 
•*ud that i* slioul'' not remain pinioned to *^he side. 



MODES OF IMPROVING THE VOICE 35 

It 18 as esae itial for a speaker to endeavor, by his appearance and manner, 
to please the eye, as by his tones to please the ear. His dress sh )ul.l be decent 
and auatiected. His position sliould be easy and graLcful. If lie stand in a 
perfectly perpendicular posture, an auditor would naturally say, " He looks 
like a post." If the hands work in direct lines, it will give him the appear- 
ance of a two-handled pump. The first point to be attained is to avoid awk 
ward habits : such as resting the chief weight of the body first on one foot and 
then on the other; swinging to and fro; jerking forward the upper part of 
the body, at every emphatic word; keeping the elbows pinioned to the sid'iss; 
and sawing the air with one hand, with one unvaried and ungraceful moticn. 
As gesture is used for the illustration and enfoicement of language, sc it 
ghould be limited, in its application, to such words and passages as admit of or 
require it. A judicious speaker will not only adapt the general style and 
manner of his action to the subject, tlie place, and the occasion, but even, 
wiien he allows himself the greatest latitude, he will reserve his gesture, or, at 
least, the force and ornament of,,it, fur those parts of his discourse for which 
he also reserves his boldest thoughts and his most brilliant expressions. 

As the head gives the chief grace to the person, so dues it principally con- 
tribute to the expression of grace in delivery. It must be held in an erect and 
natural position. For, when drooped, it is expressive of humility; when tui'ned 
upwards, of arrogance; when inclined to one side, il expresses languor; and 
when stiff and rigid, it ind<icates a lack of ease and self-possession. Its niove- 
ments should be suited to the character of the delivery ; they should accord with 
the gesture, and fall in with the action of the hands, and the motions of the 
body. The eyes, which are of the utmost consequence in aiding the exprea- 
Bion of the orator, are generally to be directed as the gesture points; except 
when we have occasion to condemn, or refuse, or to require any object to be 
removed; on which occasion, we should at the same moment express aver- 
pion in our countenance, and reject by our gesture A listless, inanimate 
expression of countenance, will always detract from the effect of the most 
eloquent sentiments, and the most appropriate utterance. 

TRAINING AND STRENGTHENING THE VOICE. 

In order to read and speak well, it is necessary to have all the vocal 
elements under complete command, so that they may be duly applied when- 
ever they are required for the vivid and elegant delineation of the sense and 
sentiment of discourse. The student, therefore, should first practise on the 
thirty-five alphabetic elements, in order to insure a true and easy execution 
^f their unmixed sounds. This will be of more use than pronouncing words 
in which they occur; for, when pronounced singly, the elements will receive a 
concentration of the organic effort, which will give them a clearness of sound 
and a definite outline, if we may so speak, at their extremes, making a fine 
preparation for their distinct and forcible pronunciation in the compounds of 
speech. He should then take one or more of the compound sounds, and carry it 
through all the degrees of the diatonic and concrete scales, both in an upward 
and a downward direction, and through the principal forms of the wave. Up 
should next take some one familiar sentence, and practise upon it with every 
variety of intonation of which it will admit. He should afterwards run through 
the various vocal keys, and the forms of the cadence; and, lastly, he should 
recite, with all the force that he can command, some passage which requires 
great exertion of the voice. If he would acquire power and volume of utter- 
ance, he must practise in the open air, with his face to the wind, his body 
perfectly erect, his chest expanded, his tongue retracted aitd depressed, and 
the cavity of his mouth as much as possible enlarged; and it is almost unnec- 
assary to add, that anything which improves the general tone of the health 
will proponionably affect the voice. If to this elementary practice the student 
vM a caref-i) and discriminating analysis of some of the best pieces which O'W 



iQ THE STANDARD SPEAKKE. 

Anguage aontaifls, both in prose and verse, and if he strenuonslj cidea^art4 
fcpply to them all the scientific principles which he has '.earned, there can b« 
no doubt that he will acquire a manner of delivery which will do ample 
histice to any subject on which he may be called to exeicise his vocal 
powers. 

In all reading and public speaking, the management of the breath requirej 
great car>i, sd as not to be obliged to divide words from one another whicb 
have su intimate a connection that they ought to be pronounced in the sam« 
breath, and without the least separ-Uion. Many sentencea are marred, and thd 
force of the emphasis totally lost, by divisions being made in the wrong plaoe. 
To avoid this, every one, while he is reading or speaking, should be careful to 
provide a full supply of breath for what he is to utter. It is a great mistake 
to imagine that the breath must be drawn only at the end of a period, when 
the voice is allowed to fall. It may easily be gathered at iniervah of the 
period, when the voice is only suspended for a moment; and, by this manage- 
ment, we may have always a suiScient stock for carrying on the longest 
sentence, without improper interruptions. 

The importance of a skilful management of the breath in utterance will be 
made apparent by a little practice. It is a good exercise for the pupil to 
repeat the cardinal numbers rapidly up to twenty, inhaling a full breath at the 
commencement. He may, by practice, make his breath hold out till he reaches 
forty and more, enunciating every syllable distinctly. 

It must always be part of a healthful physiological regimen to exercise the 
voice daily, in reading or speaking aloud. The habit of Demosthenes, of walk- 
Ing by the sea-shore and shouting, was less important, in accustoming him te 
the sound of a multitude, than in developing and strengthening his vocal 
organs. The pupil will be astonished to find how much his voice will gain 
in power by daily exercise. " Reading aloud and recitation," says Andrew 
Combe, " are more useful and invigorating muscular exercises tham is gene- 
rally imagined; at least, when managed with due regard to the natural powers 
of the individual, so as to avoid effort and fatigue. Both require the varied 
activity of most of the muscles of the trunk to a degree of which few are 
conscious till their attention is turned to it. In forming and undulating the 
voice, not only the chest, but also the diaphragm and abdominal muscles, are in 
constant action, and communicate to the stomach and bowels a healthy and 
agreeable stimulus." 

How doubly important does the judicious and methodical exercise of the 
/oice thus beco-me to him who would make it at once an effective instrument 
of conveying truth to his fellow-men, and of improving his own physical 
strength and capacity ! 



EXPLANATORY MARKS 

The length of a vowel is indicated by a horizontal line (-) ever it; as, 

Latlnus. Its shortness is marked by a curve ("); as, Regiiius. 

If two vowels, which, in ordinary circumstances, form a diphthong, or ar« 
likely to be fused together in their utterance, are to be pronounced separately 
ihe second is mai-ked with (•■) ; that is, a diseresis; as, aerial. This rule 
js not always observed in familiar instances. 

The acute accent (') is employed to indicate that the vowel over which it 
'.s placed is not merged in the preceding syllable ; as, ble-^sed, Tempe ; th« 
accent showing that tliese words are to be pronounced in two syllables. In 
poetry, the past, participle, which in prose is in one syllable, often has to be 
Irronounced in two, to preserve the harmony of the verse. 



STANDARD SPEAKER 



PART FIRST. 



MORAL AND DIDACTIC. 



I. TKUTH THE OBJECT OP ALL SSVDIES. — Original Tran.ilaUoH 

The supreme want, as well as the supreme blessing of man, is tnil/i. 
yes, truth in religion, which, in giving us pure and exalted ideas of the 
Divinity, teaches us, at the same time, to render Him the most worthy 
and intelligent homage ; — truth in morals, which indicates their duties 
t(> all classes, at once without rigor and without laxity ; — truth in 
politics, which, in making authority more just and the people more 
acquiescent, saves governments from the passions of the multitude, and 
the multitude from the tyranny of governments ; — truth in our legal 
tribunals, which strikes Vice with consternation, reassures Innocence, 
and accomplishes the triumph of Jxistice ; — truth in education, which, 
bringing the conduct of instructors into accordance with their teaching, 
exhibits them as the models no less than the masters of infancy and 
youth ; — truth in literature and in art, which preserves them from 
the contagion of bad taste, from false ornaments as well as false 
thoughts ; — truth in the daily commerce of life, which, in banishing 
fraud and imposture, establishes the common security ; — truth in 
everything, truth before everything, — this is, in effect, what the whole 
human race, at heart, solicit. Yes, all men have a consciousness, that 
truth is ever beneficent, and falsehood ever pernicious. 

And, indeed, when none but true doctrines shall be universallj 
inculcated, — when they shall have penetrated all hearts, — when they 
shall animate every order of society, — if they do not arrest all exijt* 
ing evils, they will have, at least, the advantage of arresting a great 
many. They will be prolific in generous sentiments and virtuous 
actions , and the world will perceive that truth is, to the body social, 
a principle of life. But, if, on the other hand, error, in matters of 
i^japital import, obtain dominion in the minds of men, — especially of 
those who are called to serve as guides and models, — it will mislead 
and confound them, and, in corrupting their thoughts, sentimentft au<i 
%otd, it will become a principle of dissolution and death. 



88 THE STANDARD SPEAKER 



2. IMMORPALITY. — Original Translation from MassiUon. 

Sv.KS /JAPTfSTE Massillon, one of the most eloquent preachers of any age, was bom in Feb 
eiice, France, in 1663. He became so celebrated for liis elociuence, that he was cslied to I'aris 
►here he drew crowds of hearers. In 1717, lie was made Bishop of Clermont ; and died, 1742 

If W9 wholly perish with the body, what an imposture is this whola 
iystem of laws, manners and usages, on which human society is foiinded ! 
[f we. wholly perish with the body, these maxims of charity, patience, 
ju.itice, honor, gratitude and friendship, which sages have taught and 
good men have nractised, what are they but empty words, possessing 
30 real and binding. efficacy? Why should we heed them, if in this life 
only we have hope ? Speak not of duty. What can we owe to the 
'lead, to the living, to ourselves, if all are, or will be, nothing ? Who 
shall dictate our duty, if not our own pleasures, — if not our own 
passions ? Speak not of morality. It is a mere chimera, a bugbear 
of human invention, if retribution terminate with the grave. 

If we must wholly perish, what to us are the sweet ties of kindred ? 
what the tender names of parent, child, sister, brother, husband, wife, 
or friend ? The characters of a di-ama are not more illusive • We 
have no ancestors, no descendants ; since succession cannot be predi- 
cated of nothingness. Would we honor the illustrious dead ? How 
absurd to honor that which has no existence ! Would we take thought 
for posterity ? How frivolous to concern ourselves for those whose 
end, like our own, must soon be annihilation ! Have we made a 
promise ? How can it bind nothing to nothing ? Perjury is but a 
jest. The last injunctions of the dying, — what sanctity have they 
more than the last sound of a chord that is snapped, of an instni- 
ment that is broken ? 

To sum up all : If we must wholly perish, then is obedience to tbf 
laws but an insensate servitude ; rulers and n^agistrates are but tnc 
phantoms which popular imbecility has raised up ; justice is an un- 
warrantable infringement upon the liberty of men, — an imposition, an 
usurpation ; the law of marriage is a vain scruple ; modesty, a prej- 
udice ; honor and probity, such stuff as dreams are made of; and 
incests, murders, parricides, the most heartless cruelties, and the black- 
est crimes, are but the legitimate sports of man's irresponsiule nature ; 
while the harsh epithets attached to them are merely such as the 
politjy of legislators has invented, and imposed on the credulity of the 
poopln. 

Here is the issue to which the vaunted philosophy of unlxilievere 
must inevitably lead. Here is that social felicity, that sway of rea- 
son, that emancipation from error, of which they eternally prate, as 
ihe fruit of their doctrines. Accept their maxims, and the wliole 
world falls back into a frightful chaos ; and all the relations of life 
are confounded ; and all ideas of vice and virtue are reversed ; and 
the most inviolable laws of society vanish ; and all moral diseiplin« 
perishes ; and the government of siates and nations has no longel 
any cement to uphold it ; and all the harmony of the body politid 



MORAL AND DIDACTIC. RUSKIN. 3^ 

becomes discord ; and the human race is no more that an :.sseMiliIag€ 
jf reckless barbarians, shameless, remorseless, brutal, denaturalized, 
with no other law than force, no other check than pa^yion, no other 
bond than irreligion, no other God than self! Such would be the 
world which impiety would make. Such would be this world, wers 
a l>fiiief in God and immortality to die out of the human heart. 



3. THE UTILITY OP THE BEAVTlVVh. — Jolin Rushtn. 

Mean's use and function — and let him who will- not grant mc 
this follow me no further — is to be the witness of the glory of God. 
and to advance that glory by his reasonable obedience and resultant 
happiness. Whatever enables us to fulfil this function is, in the pure 
ind first sense of the word, useful to us. And yet people speak, ii 
chis working age, as if houses, and lands, and food, and raiment, were 
done useful ; and, as if sight, thought and admiration, were all profit- 
less : so that men ins^>lently call themselves Utilitarians, who would 
turn, if they had their way, themselves and their race into vegetables; 
men who tliink, as far as such can be said to think, tliat the meat is 
more than the life, and the raiment than the body ; who look to thf 
earth as a stable, and to its fruit as fodder ; vine-dressers and hus 
bandmen, who love the corn they grind, and the grapes they crush, 
better than the gardens of the angels upon the slopes of Eden ; hewers 
of wood and drawers of water, who think that the wood they hew, and 
the water they draw, are better than the pine-forests that cover the 
mountains like the shadow of God, and than the great rivers that move 
like His eternity. And so comes upon us that woe of the preacher, 
that though God " hath made everything beautiful in his time, also 
He hath set the world in their heart, so that no man can find out the 
work that God maketh from the beginning to the end." 

This Nebuchadnezzar curse, that sends us to grass like oxen, seems 
to follow but too closely on the excess or continuance of national power 
and peace. In the perplexities of nations, in their struggles for exist- 
ence, — in their infancy, their impotence, or even their disorganization, 
— they have higher hopes and nobler passions. Out of the suffCTing 
oonies the serious mind ;, out of the salvation, the grateful heart ; out 
of the endurance, the fortitude ; out of the deliverance, the " faith. 
Deep though the causes of thankfiilness must be to every people at 
peace with others and at unity in itself, there are causes of lear also,-— 
% faar greater than of sword and sedition, — that dependence on Goi 
may be forgotten, because the bread is given and the water is sure ; 
that gratitude to Him may cease, because His constancy of protection 
hiis taken the semblance of a natural law ; that heavenly hope may 
grow faint amidst the fidl fruition of the world ; that selfishness mav 
take place of undemanded devotion, compassion be lost in vain-glory 
and love in dissimulation ; that enervation may succeed to strength 
a^iathy tc patience, and the noise of jesting words and the foulness of 



IffF STANDARD SPEAKER. 



liaik thoughts to the earnest purity of the girded loins and the buro 
big lamp. Let us beware that our rest become not the rest of stonea 
which, so long as they are torrent-tossed and thunder-stricken, maift 
tain their majesty, but, when the stream is silent, and the storni passed; 
«uifer the grass to cover them and the lichen to feed on them, -and are 
ploughed down into dust. 



4. THE WORLD WITHOUT AND WLTIim. — Thomas Noon Talfoura. 

Existence has become almost a different thing since it beg^n with 
some of us. It then justified its old similitude of a journey, — it quick- 
ened with intellect into a march ; it is now whirling with science and 
speculation into a flight. Space is contracted and shrivelled up like a 
scroll. Time disdains its old relations to distance. The intervals 
between the " flighty purpose " and the " deed " are almost anniiii- 
lated ; and the national mind must either glow with generous excite- 
ment, or waste in fitful fever. How important, then, is it, that 
throughout our land the spiritual agencies should be quickened into 
kindred activity ; that the few minutes of leisure and repose which 
may be left us should, by the succession of those " thoughts which 
wander through eternity," become hours of that true time which is 
dialled in Heaven ; that thought, no longer circling in vapid dream, 
but impelled right onward with divine energy, should not only out- 
speed the realized miracles of steam, but the divinest visions of atmos- 
pheric prophecy, and still " keep the start of the majestic world " ! 

Mr. Canning once boasted, of his South American policy, that he 
had " called a new world into existence, to balance the old." Be it 
your nobler endeavor to preserve the balance even between the world 
within us and the world without us ; not vainly seeking to retard the 
life of action, but to make it steady by Contemplation's immorta 
freightage. Then may we exult, as the chariot of hmiianity flies 
onward, with safety in its speed, — for- we shall discover, like Ezekiei 
of old, in prophetic vision, the spirit in its wheels. 

All honor, then, to those who, amid the toils, the cares, and the 
excitements, of a season of transition and struggle, would rescue the 
golden hours of the youth around them from debasing pleasures and 
more debasing sloth, and enable them to set. to the world, in a great 
crisis of its moral condition, this glorious example of intellectual coui^ 
age and progress ! 



5 THE MECHANICAL EPOCH. — Hon. John P. Kennedy. 

The world is now entering upon the Mechanical Epoch. There \e 
QOthing iti the future more sure than the great triumphs which that 
epoch is to achieve. It has already advanced to some glorious con 
quests. What mn-acles of mechanical invention already crowd upon 
OS ' Look abroad, and contemplate the infinite ai^hlevements of th« 



M 3RAL AND 7 JDACTIC. — AKENSIDE. 4 

neam power. Rofleet a moment on all that has been done by the 
railroad. Pause to estimate, if you can, with all the help of imagina- 
tion, what is to result from the agency now manifested in the oper 
ation* of the telegraph. Cast a thought over the whoie field oi' 
scientific mechanical improvement and its application to human want* 
m the last twenty years, — to go no further back, — and think what a 
world it has made ; — how many comforts it has given to man, how 
Jiany facilities ; what it has done for his food and raiment, for hi« 
communication with his fellow-man in every clime, for his instructioB 
Ji books, his amusements, his safety ! — what new lands it has opened, 
what old ones made accessible ! — how it has enlarged the sphere of 
iis knowledge and conversancy with his species ! It is all a great, 
astounding marvel, a miracle which it oppresses the mind to think of. 
It is the smallest boast which can be made for it to say that, in all 
desirable facilities in life, in the comfort that depends upon mechanism, 
and in all that is calculated to delight the senses or instruct the mind, 
the man of this day, who has secured himself a moderate competence, 
is placed far in advance of the most wealthy, powerful and princely 
of ancient times, — might I not say, of the times less than a century 
gone by ? 

And yet we have only begun ; — we are but on the threshold of 
this epoch. A great celebration is now drawing to a close, — the cel- 
ebration, by all nations, of the new era. A vast multitude of ah 
peoples, nations and tongues, has been, but yesterday, gathered under 
a magnificent crystal palace, in the greatest city of the world, to 
illustrate and distinguish the achievements of art, — no less, also, to 
dignify and exalt the great mechanical fraternity who have filled that 
palace with wonders. Is not this fact, of itself, charged with a 
volume of comment ? What is it but the setting of the great distinct- 
ive seal upon the nineteenth century ? — an advertisment of the fact 
that society has risen to occupy a higher platform than ever before ? 
— a proclamation from the high places, announcing honor, honor 
immortal, to the workmen who fill this world with beauty, comfort and 
power ; honor to be forever embalmed in history, to be perpetuated in 
monuments, to be written in the hearts of this and succeeding gen- 
era tions ! 



«. THE MIND OF UAl^.—Mark Akenside. Born, 1121; died,m<i 

Say, why was man so eminently raised 
Amid the vast creation, — why ordained 
Through life and death to dart his piercing eye, 
With thoughts beyond the limit of his frame, — 
But that th' Omnipotent might send him forth 
In sight of mortal and immortal Powers, 
As on a boundless theatre, to run 
I'he great career of justice ; to exalt 
Ilis generous sim to all diviner deeds " 



42 THE STANi>*^J} SEHiKER, 

To chase eacii partial purpose from his breast, 

And through the mists of Passion and of Sense, 

And through the tossing tides of Chance and Paui, 

To hold his course unfaltering, while the voice 

Of Truth and A^irtue, up the steep ascenx 

Of Nature, calls him to his high reward. 

The applauding smile of Heaven ? The high-bom Mtk 

Disdains to rest her Heaven-aspiring wing 

Beneath its native quarry. Tired of earth 

And this diurnal scene, she springs aloft 

Through fields of air ; pursues the flying storm ; 

Rides on the volleyed lightning through the Heavens 

Or, yoked with whirlwinds and the Northern blast, 

Sweeps tlie long tract of Day. 

Mind, Mind alone (bear witness, Earth and Heaven' 

The living fountains in itself contains 

Of beauteous and sublime : here, hand in hand, 

Sit paramount the Grraces ; here, enthroned, 

Celestial Venus, with divinest airs, 

Invites the Soul to never-fading joy. 

Look, then, abroad through Nature, to the rangt 
Of planets, suns, and adamantine spheres. 
Wheeling unshaken through the void immense , 
And speak, C man ! does this capacious scene 
With half that kindling majesty dilate 
Thy strong conception, as when Brutus rose 
Refulgent from the stroke of Coesar's fate, 
Amid the crowd of patriots, and his arm 
Aloft extending, like eternal Jove, 
When guilt brings down the thunder, called aloud 
On TuUy's name, and shook his crimson steel, 
And bade the father of his country hail ? 
For 10 ! the tyrant prostrate in the dust, 
And Rome again is free ! 



7. THE TRUE TO-DAY —H. Withington. Born, 1818 ; died, 184s. 

All that there is in what we call To-day is in the life of thougnt 
i^cught 13 the spirit's breath. To think is to live ; for he who thinks 
ll-^t has no sense of li fe. Wouldst thou make the most of life. — 
wouldst thou have the joy of the present, — let Thought's invisible 
shuttles weave full in the loom of Time the moment's passing threacK 
To think is to live ; but with how many are these passing hours as so 
many loose filaments, never woven together, nor gathered, but scat- 
tered, ravelling, so many flying ends, confused and worthless ! Time 
ana life, unfilled with thought, are useless, unenjoyed, bringing no 
pleasure for the present, storing no good for future need To-da\ M 



MORAL AND DIDACTIC- ENGLAND. 40 

tfte golden chance, wherewith to snatch Thought's hlo-sted fruition, — 
the joy of the Present, the hope of the Future. Thought makes th* 
time that is, and thought the eternity to co)i)e : 

"0 bright presence of To-day, let me wrestle with thee, granioiis angel; 
I will liot let thee go except thou bless me; bless uie, then, To-day ! 

sweet garden of To-day, let me gather of thee, precious Eden; 

1 have stolen bitter knowledge, give me fruits of life To-day. 

true temple of To-day, let me worship in thee, glorious Zion; 

1 find none other place nor time than where I am, To-day. 

living rescue of To-day, let nie run into thee, ark of refuge; 

1 see none other hope nor chance, but standeth in To-day. 

rich banquet of To-day, let me feast upon thee, saving manna; 

1 have none other food nor store but daily bread To-day." 



8. THE DUELLIST'S UOHOli. — Bishop England. Born, 1786 ; died, 1842. 

Honor is the acquisition and preservation of the dignity of oul 
Qature : that dignity consists in its perfection ; that perfection ia 
round in observing the laws of our Ci'eator ; the laws of the Creator 
are the dictatas of reason and of religion : that is, the observance of 
what He teaches us by the natural light of our own minds, and by 
the special revelations of His will manifestly giTcn. They both con- 
cur in teaching us that individuals have not the dominion of the* 
own lives ; otherwise, no suicide would be a criminal. They concur 
teaching us that we ought to be amenable to the laws of the societ_j 
of which we are members ; otherwise, morality and honor would be 
consistent with the violation of law and the disturbance of the social 
system. They teach us that society cannot continue to exist where 
the public tribunals are despised or undervalued, and the redi'ess of 
injuries withdrawn from the calm regulation of public justice, for the 
purpose of being committed to the caprice of private passion, and the 
execution of indi^^dual ill-will ; therefore, the man of honor abides 
by the law of God, reveres the statutes of his country, and is respect- 
ful and amenable to its authorities. Such, my friends, is what the 
reflecting ]iort!on of mankind has always thought upon the subject of 
honor. This was the honor of the Greek ; this was the honor of the 
Roman ; this the honor of the Jew ; this the honor of the Gentile ; 
this, too, was the honor of the Christian, until the superstition and 
barbarity of Northern devastators darkened his glory and degraded 
his character. 

Man, then, has not power over his own life ; much less is he jubti- 
6ed in depriving another human being of life. Upon what ground 
can he who encages in a duel, through the fear of ignonuny, lay 
claim to courage ? Unfortunate delinquent ! Do you not see by how 
many lii.ks your victim was bound to a multitude of others ? Does 
his vain and idle resignation of his title to life absolve you from the 
enormous claims which society has upon you for his sei'vices, — his 
family for that support, of which you have robbed them, without youi 
own enrichment ? Go. stand over that body : call ^ack tha^ soa 



44 TEE &TANi*AK.D SPEAKER. 

which you have i riven from its tenement ; take up that hand whicL 
four pride refused to touch, not one hour ago. You have, in youj 
jjride and wrath, usurped one prerogative of God. You hare inflicted 
death. At least, in mei-ey, attempt the exercise of another ; breathe 
into those distended nostrils, — let your brother be once more a living 
eoul ! Merciful Father ! how powerless are we for good, but how 
mighty for evil ! Wretched man ! he does not answer, — he cannot 
rise. All your efforts to make him breathe are vain. His soul i? 
already in the presence of your common Creator. Like the wretched 
Cain, will you answer, " Am I my brother's keeper ? " Why do you 
turn away from the contemplation of your own honorable work ? 
Yes, go as far as you will, still the admonition will ring in your cars : 
It was by your hand he fell! The horrid instrument of death is 
BtUl in that hand, and the stain of blood upon your soul. Fly, if you 
will, — go to that house which you have filled with desolation. It is 
the shriek of his widow, — they are the cries of his children, — the 
broken sobs of his parent ; — and, amidst the wailings, you distinctly 
hear the voice of imprecation on your own guilty head ! Will your 
honorable feelings be content with this ? Have you now had a^un- 
(1 int and gentlemanly satisfaction ? 



9. DAY CONCEALS WHAT NIGHT REVEALS.— y. P. jVicAo/. 

Vast as our firmament may be, has it boundaries, or does it stretch 
away into infinitude ? Are those awful spaces, that surround it on 
every side, void, empty, — or are they tenanted by worlds and systems 
similar to our own ? No wonder that a mind like Herschell's should 
have rashed to the conclusion that the space around our system was a 
vault, in whose capacious bosom myriads of mighty clustere like our 
own universe are placed. If it be true that this great scheme of ours 
is simply that which Herschell first supposed it, but still a great, sep- 
arate, distinct scheme, whose nature is, perhaps, more than anything 
else, represented by these singular Nebulge, what must we think with 
regard to it ? Surely it is, that notwithstanding its inmiense diffusion, 
its vast confines, the great space through which its different portions 
range, there must lie around it, on every side, vast untenanted spaces ; 
and, if this be so, may it not be that amid all that space, also, there 
are floating great schemes of being like ours, — schemes, I say, of 
different shape, of different character, but Ipng in these vast regions 
of space like ours, — schemes quite as magnificent as that vast system 
to which we ourselves belong ? If this be so, what a conception, in 
regard to the material universe, must press itself upon our notice ! 

How strange that this Universe is only yet cognizable by one human 
sense ! that the veil of the sun's light entirely conceals its wonder* 
fi'om our view ! that, had the light of that Sun not been veiled b^ 
the curtain of night we had lived amid it and never have known of 
the .^ixistence of the Stellar Universe ! May it not, then, he trae„ thas 



MORAL AND DIDACTIC. 45 

during midnight, w)en these infinite orbs app^-ar to uft from thoii 
anmeasured depths, — may it not be true that through veils as thii», 
we are witliheld now from the consciousness of Dther Univexses, vast 
even an the world of stars ? But, in reference to an idea ac loflj, \ei 
me use the language of a great mind : * 

" Mysterious Night ! when our first parent knew 
Thee by report di\nne, and heard thy name, 
Did he not tremble for this lovely frame, 
Jhis glorious canopy of light and blue ] 
Yet 'neath a curtain of translucent dew. 
Bathed in the rays of the great setting flamo, 
Hesperus and the hosts of Heaven came, 
And, lo ! Creation widened in man's view. 
Who could have thought such darkness lay concealed 
Within thy beams, Sun ! or who could find, 
Whilst fly and leaf and insect stood revealed, 
That to such countless orbs thou mad'st us blind 1 
Why do we, then, shun death with anxious strife 1 — 
If Light can thus deceive, why may not Life } " ' . 



10. MAN'S MATERIAL TRimiVTlS. — Original Translation. 

When we contemplate man in his relations to the rest of creation, 
how lofty, in the comparison, appears his lot! He subdues all the pow* 
ers of nature. He combines or separates them according to his wants. 
— according to his caprices. Master of the earth, he covers it at wil\ 
with cities, with villages, with monuments, with trees, and with har- 
vests. He forces all the lower animals to cultivate it for him, to serve 
him for use or pastime, or to disappear from his domain. Master of 
the sea, he floats at ease over its unfathomed abysses ; he places dykes 
to its fury, he pillages its treasures, and he makes its waves hia 
highway of transportation from clime to clime. Master of the ele- 
ments, fire, air, light, water, docile slaves of his sovereign will, are 
imprisoned in his laboratories and manufiictories, or harnessed to hie 
cars, which they drag, invisible couriers, swift as thought ! 

What grandeur and what power, in a frail being of a day, a hardly 
perceptible atom amid that creation, over which he acquires such em- 
pire ! And yet this creature, so diminutive, so weak, has received an 
intelligent and reasoning soul ; and, alone, among all the rest, enjoya 
the amazing privilege of deriving from tlie Fountain of life and light 
an intellectual radiance, in the midst of worlds whose glow is but the 
pale reflex of material orbs. The empire of the world has been given 
to him because his spirit, greater than the world, can measure, 
admire, comprehend, and explain it. Nature has been subjected to 
him, because he can unveil the marvellous mechanism of her laws, 
penetrate her profoundest secrets, and wrest from her all the treasures 
which she holds in her bosom. Placed at such a height, man would 
'ideed. be perilously tempted; — giddy and dazzled, ho wculd forges? 

• J, Blanoo White 



16 THE STANDAEX SPEAKER. 

the adorable Benefactor, who had made him so great, and admire and 
adoi-e hiiiiseif as the principle and the first source of his grandeur, 
but that Divine Goodness has been quick to secure him from this 
danger, by graving in his being a law of dependence, of original ia- 
firmity, of which it is impossible for pride itself to eflface the celestial 
imprint. 

And so has Nature been commissioned to render up her secrets and 
her treasures with a reluctant hand, one by one, at the price of har- 
assing labors and profound meditations ; to make man feel, at every 
movement, that if she is obliged to succumb to his desires, she yields 
less to his will than to his exertions ; — a sure sign of his dependence. 
And so sLall there be no progress, no conquests for man, which are not 
at once a signal proof of his strength and his weakness, and which do 
cot bear the indelible impress at once of his power and his insufS- 

eieucy. 

^ 

11. FORTITUDE AMID TRlATuS. — Anonymous. 

O, NEVER from thy tempted heart 
Let thine integrity depart ! 
When Disappointment fills thy cup, 
Undaunted, nobly drink it up ; 
Truth will prevail, and Justice show 
Her tardy honors, sure though slow. 
Bear on — bear bravely on ! 

Bear on ! Our life is not a dream, 
Though often such its mazes seem ; 
We were not born for lives of ease, 
Ourselves alone to aid and please. . 
To each a daily task is given, 
A labor which shall fit for Heaven ; 
When Duty calls, let Love grow warm ; — 
Amid the sunshine and the storm. 
With Faith life's trials boldly breast, 
And come a conqueror to thy rest. 

Bear on — bear bravely on ! 



12. THE UNITED STATES OF EUROPE — Original Translation 
Prom Victor Hugo's Presiilential Address at the Peace Congress, 1849. 

A DAT will come when you, France, — you, Russia, — you, t taJy 
— yoH, England, — you, Glermany, — all of you. Nations of tiw Oon^ 
inent, — shall, without losing your distinctive qualities &nd you* 
rlorious individuality, blend in a higher unity, and form a i]uropeait 
n'aternity, even as iSormandy, Brittjiny, Burgundy, Lorraine, Alsace,* 
8lI> me French provinces, have blended into France A day will yyme 

* Pronounced A'sass, 



MORAL AND DIDACTIC. HUGO. 47 

when war shall seem as absurd and impossible between Pan's abd Lou. 
Jon, between Petersburg and Berlin, as between Rouen * and Amions,"* 
{)etween Boston and Philadelphia. A day will come when biiUnti- 
and bombs shall be replaced by ballots, by the universal suffi-agcs cf 
the People, by the sacred arbitrament of a great sovereign Senate 
which shall be to J]urtpe what the Parliament is to England, what 
the Diet is to Germany, what the Legislative Assembly is to France. 
A dav will come wlien a cannon shall be exhibited in cur raoseuniii, 
as an instrument of torture is now, and men shall marvel that such 
things could be. A day will come when shall be seen those two 
mimense groups, the United States of America and the United States 
of Fjuropc, in face of each other, extending hand to hand over the 
ocean, exchanging their products, their commerce, their industry, their 
arts, their genius, — clearing the earth, colonizing deserts, and ame- 
liorating creation, under the eye of the Creator. 

And, for that day to arrive, it is not necessary that four hundred 
years should pass : for we live in a fast time ; we live in a current of 
events and of ideas the most impetuous that has ever swept along the 
Nations ; and at an epoch when a year may sometimes effect the work 
of a century. And, to you I appeal, — French, English, Germans, 
Russians, Sclaves, Europeans, Americans, — what have we to du to 
hasten the coming of that great day ? Love one another ! To love 
one another, in this immense work of pacification, is the best way of 
aiding God. For God wills that this sublime end should be accom- 
plished. And, see, for the attainment of it, what, on all sides, He is 
doing ! See what discoveries He causes to spring from the human 
brain, all tending to the great end of peace ! What progress ! What 
simplifications I How does Nature, more and more, suffer herself to 
be vancpiished by man ! How dofcj matter become, more and more 
the slave of intelligence and the servant of civilization ! How do tht 
causes of war vanish with the causes of suffering ! How are remote 
Nations brought near ! How is distance abridged ! And how doeS' 
this abridgment make men more like brothers ! Thanks to railroads. 
Europe will soon be no larger than France was in the middle ages ! 
Thanks to steamships, we now traverse the ocean more easily than w€ 
could the Mediterranean once ! Yet a few years more, and the elec- 
tric thread of concord shall encircle the globe, and unite the world ! 

When I consider all that Providence has done for us, and all that 
politicians have done against us, a melancholy consideration presents 
itself We learn, from the statistics of Europe, that she now spends 
annually, for the maintenance of her armies, the sum of five hundred 
aiillions of dollars. If, for the last thirty-two years, this enormoug 
sum had been expended in the interests of peace, — America mean- 
while aiding Europe, — know you what would have happened ? Tlie 
face of the world wouLl liave been changed. Isthmuses would havf 
&een cut throu;;h; rivers would have been channelled; mounfcainj 

• Pronounced Rooang. 



48 THE STANDAEB SPEAKER. 

tunnelled. Raiii'oads would have covered tte two crnliojnrs. 'rh« 
merchant tonnage of the world would have increased a hundred-fold. 
There would be nowhere barren plainb, nor moors, nor marshes 
Cities would be seen whei-e now all is still a solitude. Harbors would 
have been dug where shoals and rocks now threaten navigation. Asia 
would be laised to a state of civilization. Africa would be restcired 
to man. Abundance would flow forth froni every side, from all the 
veins of the earth, beneath the labor of the whole family of man ; and 
loisery would disappear ! And, with misery, what would also disap« 
pear ? Revolutions. Yes ; the face of the world would be changed. 
Instead of destroying one another, men would peacefully people the 
A-iste places of the earth. Instead of making revolutions, they would 
os^tablish colonies. Instead of bringing back barbarism into civi'iza- 
tion, they would carry civilization into barbarism. 



13. THE PEACE CONGRESS OF THE UNION.— ^du-ard trverett. June ntk, 1860, 

Among the great ideas of the age, we are authorized in reckoning 
a growing sentiment in favor of peace. An impression is unquestion- 
ably gaining strength in the world, that public war is no less reproach- 
tul to our Christian civilization than the private wars of the feudal 
jhieft in the middle ages. A Congress of Nations begins to be re- 
garded as a practicable measure. Statesmen, and orators, and phi- 
lanthropists, are flattering themselves that the countries of Europe, 
which have existed as independent sovereignties for a thousand years, 
and have never united in one movement since the Crusades, may be 
Drought into some community of action for this end. 

They are calling conventions, and digesting projects, by which 
Empires, Kingdoms, and Republics, inhabited by difiPerent races of 
men, — tribes of Slavonian, Teutonic, Latin, and mixed descent, — 
speaking different languages, believing different creeds, — Oreeks, Cath- 
olics, and Protestants, men who are scarcely willing to live on the 
same earth with each other, or go to the same Heaven, — can be made 
to agree to some great plan of common umpirage. If, while these 
sanguine projects are pursued, — while we are thinking it worth 
while to compass, sea and land in the expectation of bringing these 
jarring nationalities into some kind of union, in order to put a stop tfl 
war, — if, I say, at this juncture, the People of these thirty United 
fetat&s, most of which are of the average size of a European King- 
dom, destined, if they remain a century longer at peace with each 
other, to equal in numbers the entire population of Europe ; States, 
which, drawn together by a general identity of descent, language and 
faith, have not so much formed as grown up into a National Confed. 
eration, possessing in its central Legislature, Executive and Judi 
diary, an efficient tribunal for the arbitration and decision of contro- 
rersies, — an actual Peaee Congress, clothed with all the powers of a 
aommon Cori;stitution and law and vrith a jurisdi/tion extending to 



MOKAL AND DIDACTIC. — BECKWITH. 49 

the ind'Vidual citizen (which this projected Congi-ess of Nations do<3s 
jiot even hope to exercise), — if, while we grasp at this shadow of a 
(Congress of Nations, we let go of — nay, break up, and scatter to the 
winds — this substantial union, this real Peace Congress, which, for 
8.«xty years, has kept the country, with all its conflicting elements, in 
a state of prosperity never before equalled in the world, we shall com- 
mit a folly for which the language we speak has no name ; again&t 
which, if we, rational beings, should fail to protest, the dumb stones 
of yonder monument would immediately cry out in condemnation ' 



14. THE SPIRIT OF THE AGE ADVERSE TO WAR.-iiei,. .y. C. Seckwith. 

War ivUl yet cease from the whole earth ; for God Himself has said 
it shall. As an infidel, I might doubt this ; but as a Christian, I can- 
not. If God has taught anything in the Bible, He has taught peace ; 
if He has promised anything there, He has promised peace, ultimate, 
peace, to the whole world ; and, unless the night of a godless scepticism 
should settle on my soul, I must believe on, and hope on, and work on, 
until the Nations, from pole to pole, shall beat their swords into 
ploughshares, their spears into pruning-hooks, and learn war no 
more. Yes, Sir ; I see, or I think I see, the dawn of that coming day. 
I see it in the new and better spirit of the age. I see it in the Press 
the Pulpit, and the School. I see it in every factory, and steamship 
and rail-ear. I see it in every enterprise of Christian benevolence 
and reform. I see it in all the means of general improvement, in 
all the good influences of the age, now at work over the whole earth, 
Yes ; there is a spirit abroad that can never rest until the war-demun 
is hunted from the habitations of men. The spirit that is now push- 
ing its enterprises and improvements in every direction ; the spirit that 
is unfurling the white flag of commerce on every sea, and bartering 
its commodities in every port ; the spirit that is laying every power 
of nature, as well as the utmost resources of human ingenuity, under 
the largest contributions possible, for the general welfare of mankind , 
the spirit that hunts out from your cities' darkest alleys the outcasts! 
of poverty and crime, for relief and reform ; nay, goes down into the 
barred and bolted dungeons of penal vengeance, and brings up its 
jallous, haggard victims, into the sunlight of a love that pities even 
wliile it smites; the spirit that is every^vhere rearing hospitals for 
tho sick retreatf for tiie insane, and schools that all but teach the 
du.:ab tc speak, the deaf to hear, and the blind to see ; the spirit 
that harnesses the fire-horse in his iron gear, and sends him pant- 
ing, with hot but unwearied breath, across empires, and continents, 
and seafi ; the spirit that catches the very lightning of Heaven, and 
makes it bear messages, swift, almost, as thought, from city to city, 
from country to country, round the globe; the spirit that subsidizes 
all these to the godlike work of a world's salvation, and employs theni 
to sojitter the blessed trutlis of the Gospel, thick as leaves of autuii.n, 
4 



50 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

or dew-drops of morning, all over the earth; the jpirit that is &t 
bngth weaving the sympathies and interests of cur ■whole race into the 
web of one vast fraternity, and stamping upon it, or writing over it, 
in characters bright as sunbeams, those simple yet glorious truths, 
he fatherhood of God, and the brotherhood of man ; — is it possible 
for such a spirit to rest until it shall have swept war from the earth 
forever ? 



t& MOSES IN SIGHT OF THE PROMISED LAND.— )^. B. O. Peabody. B. 1799 ; d. 1841. 

The legislation of Moses ! Let me ask, what other legislation of 
ancient times is still exerting any influence upon the world ? What 
philosopher, what statesman of ancient times, can boast a single dis- 
ciple now ? What other voice comes down to us, over the stormy 
waves of time ? But this man is at this day, — at this hour, — er'^rt- 
ing a mighty influence over millions ; the whole Hebrew Nation do 
homage to his illustrious name. Though the daily sacrifice has cessed, 
and the distinction of the tribes is lost, — though the temple has not 
reft one stone upon another, and the altar-fires have been extinguii bed 
long ago, — still, wherever a Jew is found, — and they are fcund 
wherever the foot of an adventurer travels, — he is a living monumenf 
of the power which this great Hebrew s+atesman still has over thf 
minds and hearts of his countrymen. 

And now let us take one glance at this prophet, at the close of a 
life so laborious and honored. Up to his one hundred and twentit'th 
year, his eye was not dim, nor had his strength abated. But now, 
when he stands almost on the edge of the promised land, his last hour 
of mortal life is come. To conduct his People to that land had been 
his daily eifort, and his nightly dream ; and yet he is not permitted 
to enter it, thoujih it would never have been the home of Israel, but 
for him. He ascends a mountain to die, and there the land of promise 
spreads out its romantic landscape at his feet. There is Gilead, with its 
deep valleys and forest-covered hills ; there are the rich plains and 
Pastures of Dan ; there is Judah with its rocky heights, and Jericho 
A^ith its palm-trees and rose-gardens ; there is the Jordan, seen from 
Lebanon downward, winding over its yellow sands ; the long blue line 
of the Mediterranean can oe seen over the mountain battlements of 
the West. On this magnificent death-bed the Statesman of Israel 
breathed his last. Lest the gratitude which so often follows the dead, 
tnough denied to the living, should pay him Divine honors, they buried 
aim in darkness and silence ; and no man knoweth of his ■'ep-ilciiro, 
Pflto this day. 



16. NECESSITY OF LA.W. — Richard Hooker. Bom, 1663; died. 1600 

The stateliness of houses, the goodliness of trees, when we bcdvoid 
them, delighteth the eye ; but that foundaticn which beareth up the 
lue, that root which ministereth unto the other lourishmeot and life 



MORjlL iNE DIDACTIC. CAKLTLE. 51 

th in the bosom of the earth concealed ; and if there De ^ccuiion a< 
any timt to search into it, such hibor is then more necessary than 
pleasant, both to them which undertake it and for the lookers on. 
In like manner, the use and benefit of good laws, all that live under 
them may enjoy with delight and comfort, albeit the grounds and first 
original causes from whence they have sprang be unknown, as to the 
greatest part of men they are. 

Since the time that God did first proclaim the edicts of His Ia\» 
npon the world, Heaven and earth have hearkened unto His voice, and 
their labor hath been to do His will. He made a law for the rain ; 
He gave His decree unto the sea, that the waters should not pass HLs 
commandment. Now, if Nature should intermit her course, and leave 
altogether, though it were for a while, the observation of her own 
law ; if those principal and mother elements of the world, whereof 
all things in this lower world are made, should lose the qualities 
which now they have ; if the frame of that Heavenly arch erected 
over our heads should loosen and dissolve itself; if celestial spheres 
should forget their wonted motions, and by irregular volubility turn 
themselves any way as it might happen ; if the prince of the lights 
of Heaven, which now, as a giant, doth run his unwearied course, 
shoidd, as it were, through a languishing faintness, begin to stand 
and to rest himself; if the moon should wander from her beaten way ; 
the times and seasons of the year blend themselves by disordered 
and confused mixture ; the winds breathe out their last gasp ; the 
clouds yield no rain ; the earth be defeated of Heavenly influence ; the 
fruits of the earth pine away, as children at the withered breasts of 
their mother, no longer able to yield them relief, — what would be- 
come of man himself, whom these things do now all serve ? See we 
not plainly that obedience of creatures unto the law of nature is the 
stay of the whole world ? 

Of Law there can be no less acknowledged than that her seat is 
the bosom of God ; her voice the harmony of the world ; all things in 
Heaven and earth do her homage ; the very ie^st as feeling her care 
and the greatest as not exempted from her power. Both angels and 
men, and cieatures of what condition soever, though each in different 
9urt and manner, yet all, with uniform consent, admiring her as the 
mother of their peace and joy. 



17. JUSTICE. — TAoOTos Carlyle. 

£n this God's world, with its wild-whirling eddies and mad foam- 
oceans, where men and Nations perish as if without law, and judgment 
for an unjust thing is sternly delay 3d, dost thou think that there is 
therefore no justice ? It is what the fool hath said in his heart. It 
is what the wise, in all times, were wise because they denied, and 
knew forever not to be. I tell thee again there is nothing else bru 
justice. One strong thing I find here below : the just thing, the true 



1)2 IHE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

thing. My frieftJ, if thou hadst all the artillery of Wnolwich triu 
dling at thy back in support of an unjust thing, and intiuite bonfires 
visibly waiting ahe^ad of thee, to blaze centuries long for thy victory 
on behalf of it, I would advise thee to call halt, to fling down thy 
baton, and say, " In God's name, No ! " Thy " success ! " — Poor 
devil, what will thy success amount to ? If the thing is unjust, thora 
ha.st not succeeded ; no, not though bonfires blazed from North to 
South, and bells rang, and editors wrote leading-articles, and the jiist 
thing lay trampled out of sight, to all mortal eyes an abolished and 
aimihilated thing. Success ? — In few years thou wilt be dead and 
dark — all cold, eyeless, deaf ; no blaze of bonfires, ding-dong of bells, 
or leading-articles, visible or audible to thee again at all forever. What 
kind of success is that ? 



18. TO-MORROW. —Nathaniel Cotton. Born, 1707 ; diea, 178S. 

To-MORRow, didst thou say ? 
Methought I heard Horatio say. To-morrow. 
Go to — I will not hear of it — To-morrow ! 
'T is a sharper, who stakes his penury 
Against thy plenty, — who takes thy ready cash, 
And pays thee naught, but wishes, hopes, and promise 
The currency of idiots, — injurious bankrupt, 
That gulls the easy creditor ! — To-morrow ! 
It is a period nowhere to be found 
In all the hoary registers of Time, 
Unless perchance in the fool's calendar. 
Wisdom disclaims the word, nor holds society 
With those who own it. No, my Horatio, 
"T is Fancy's child, and Folly is its father ; 
Wrought of such stuff as dreams are, and as baseless 
As the fantastic visions of the evening. 

But soft, my friend, — arrest the present moment 
For be assured they all are arrant tell-tales : 
And though their flight be silent, and their path 
Trackless, as the winged couriers of the air. 
They post to Heaven, and there record thy folly ; 
Because, though stationed on the important watch. 
Thou, like a sleeping, faithless sentinel. 
Didst let them pass unnoticed, unimproved. — 
And know, for that thou slumberest on the guard. 
Thou shalt be made to answer at the bar 
For every fugitive ; and when thou thus 
Shalt stand impleaded at the high tribunal 
Of hoodwinked justice, who shall tell thy audit ? 

Then stay the present instant dear Horatio j 
Imorint the marks of wisdom on its wings • 



I 



MORAL AND DIDACTIC. GOETHK. 58 

T 19 of more worth than Kingdoms ! far more preciotw 

Than ail the crimson treasures of life's fountain. 

! let it not elude thy gi-asp ; but, like 

The good old patriarch upon record, 

Hold the flep-t angel fast until he bless thee. 



19. THE ELOQUENCE 01' ACTION.— Danitl JTebitet 

When p ablic bodies are to be addressed on momentous occasiocs, 
when groat interests are at stake and strong pa.ssions excited, nothing 
IB valuable in speech, further than it is connected with high intellect- 
ual and moral endowments. Clearness, force and earnestness, are the 
qualities which produce c;jnviction. True eloquence, indeed, does not 
consist in siDcech. It caa ii t he brought from tai uabor and learn- 
ing may toil for it, hut tl'-. will toil m vam Words and phrases 
may be marshalled in evei ^ way. but they cannot compass it. It 
must exist in the man, in th- -subject, and in the occasion. Affected 
oassinn. intense expression, the ■vomp of declamation, all may aspire 
after it- - thej <5anuot reach t It comes, if it come at all, like the 
outbreaking of ,i fountain from ae earth, or the bursting forth of 
volcanic fires witti spontaneous, original, native force. The graces 
caught in the schools, the costly ornaments and studied contrivances 
uf speech, shock and disgust men, whci their own lives, and the fate 
of their wives, their children, and their country, hang on the decision 
of the hour. Then, words have lost then power, rhetoric is vain, and 
all elaborate oratory contemptibl ■ Evf n genius itself then feels 
rebuked and subdued, as in the piObence of higher qualities. Then, 
patriotism is eloquent ; then, self-devotion is eloquent. The clear 
conception, outrunning the deductions of logic, the high purpose, the 
firm resolve, the dauntless spirit, speaking on the tongue, beaming 
from the eye, informing evei-y feature, and urging the whole man 
onward, right onward, to his object, — this, this is eloquence; or, rather, 
it is something greater and higher than all eloquence, — it is action 
noble, sublime, godlike action ! 



aC, SINCERITY THE SOUL OF ELOQUENCE.— Goe^Ae. Born, 1749 •, ited, 183a 

How shall we learn to sway the minds of men 
By eloquence ^ to rale them, or persuade ? — 
Do you seek genuine and worthy fame ^ 
Reason and honest feeling want no arts 
Of utterance, — ask no toil of elocution ! — 
And, when you speak in earnest, do you need 
A search for words ? ! these fine holiday phrases. 
In which you robe your worn-out commonplaces, 
These scraos of paper which you crimp and cui'l. 



u 



THE STANDAKD SPEAKJIR. 

And twist into a thousand idle shapes, 

These filigree ornaments, are good for nothing, — 

Cost time and pains, please few, impose on no onfl 

Are unrefreshing, as the wind that whistles, 

In autumn, 'mong the dry and wrinkled leaves. 

If feeling does not prompt, in vain you strive. 

If from the soid the language does not come, 

By its own impulse, to impel the hearts 

Of hearers with communicated power, 

In vain you strive, in vain you study earnestly, — 

Toil on forever, piece together fragments, — • 

Cook up your broken scraps of sentences. 

And blow, with puffing breath, a struggling light, 

Glimmering confusedly now, now cold in ashes, — 

Startle the school-boys with youi" metaphors, — 

And, if such food may suit your appetite. 

Win the vain wonder of applauding children ! 

But never hope to stir the hearts of tnen, 

And mould the souls of many into one, 

By words which come not native from the heart ! 



' a. THE CHRISTIAN OKA.T0B,. — Original translation fiomVillemain. 

\iY the introduction of Christianity, a tribune was erected, from 
wliich the most sublime truths were boldly announced to all the world ; 
from which the purest lessons of morality were made familiar to the 
ignorant multitude ; a tribune so authoritative, so august, that before 
it Emperors, soiled with the blood of the People, were humbled ; a 
tribune so pacific and tutelary, that more than once it has given refuge 
to its mortal enemies ; a tribune, from which many an interest, aban- 
doned everywhere else, was long defended ; a tribune which, singly 
and eternally, has pleaded the cause of the poor against the rich, of 
the oppressed against the oppressor, and of man against himself. 

There, all becomes ennobled and deified. The Christian orator, 
with his mastery over the minds of his hearers, elevating and startling 
them by turns, can reveal to them a destiny grander than glory, or 
terribler than death. From the highest Heavens he can draw down 
an eternal hope to the tomb, where Pericles could bring only tributary 
lamentations and tears. If, with the Roman orator, he commemorate 
the warrior fallen on the field of battle, he gives to the soul of the 
departed that immortality which Cicero dared pi-omise only to his 
renown, he charges Deity itself with the acquittal of a country's 
gratitude. 

Would the orator confine himself to evangelical preaching ? That 
science of morals, that experience of mankind, those secrets of tho 
passions, which were the constant study of the philosophers and oratora 
gf antiquity, ought to be his, also, to command. It is for him, eve* 



MORAL ANi DIDACTIC. COWPEK. 05 

n.'Ore than it was for tJiem^ to know all the windings of the human 
neart, all the vicissitudes of the emotions, all the sensibilities of the 
Boul ; not with a view to exciting those violent affections, those popu. 
lar animosities, those fierce kindling-s of passion, those fires of ven 
geance and of hate, in the outbursts of which the triumph of ancient 
eloquence was attained ; but to appease, to soften, to purify, the soul 
A.rmed against all the passions, without the privilege of availing him. 
aelf of any, he is obliged, as it were, to croute a new passion, if by 
that name w.^, may profane the profound, the sublime sentiment, which 
can alone vanquish and replace all others in the heart, — an intelli- 
gent religious enthusiasm ; and it is that, which should impart to his 
elocution, to his thoughts, to his words, rather the inspiration of a 
prophet thap. the art and manner of an orator. 



n. AIFECTATION IN THE VChVYi. — William Cowper. Bom, 1731 ; rfjfld, 1800 

In man or woman, — but far most in man, 
And most of all in man that ministers 
And serves the altar, — in my soul I loathe 
All affectation. 'T is my perfect scorn ; 
Object of my implacable disgust. 
What ! — will a man play tricks, — wiU he indmge 
A silly, fond conceit of his fair form, 
And just proportion, fashionable mien, 
And pretty face, — in presence of his Grod ? 
Or will he seek to dazzle me with tropes, 
As with the diamond on his lily hand, 
And play his brilliant parts before my eyes. 
When I am hungry for the bread of life ? 
He mocks his Maker, prostitutes and shames 
His noble office, and, instead of truth. 
Displaying his own beauty, starves his flock ! 
Therefore, avaunt all attitude, and stare, 
And start theatric, practised at the glass ! 
I seek divine simplicity in him 
Wlio handles things divine ; and all besides. 
Though learned with labor, and though much admired 
By curious eyes and judgments ill-informed. 
To me is odious as the nasal twang 
Heard at conventif le, where worthy men, 
Misled by custom strain celestial themes 
Through the pressed nostril, spectacle-bestrid. 

I venerate the man whose heart is warm, 
Whose hands are pure, whose doctrine and wh£»e life. 
Coincident, exhibit lucid proof 
That he is honest in the sacred cause. 
To such I render more than mere respect 



THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

Whoge actions say that they respect themselves. 

But loose in morals, and in manners vain, 

In conversation frivolous, in dress 

Extreme, at once rapacious and profuse ; 

Frequent in park with lady at his side, 

Ambling and prattling scandal as he goes • 

But rare at home, and never at his books, 

Or with his pen, save when he scrawls a card 

Constant at routs, familiar with a round 

Of ladyships — a stranger to the poor ; 

Ambitious of preferment for its gold ; 

And well prepared, by ignorance and sloth, 

By infidelity and love of world, 

To make God's work a sinecure ; a slave 

To his own pleasures and his patron's pride ; — 

From such apostles, 0, ye mitred heads, 

Preserve the Church ! and lay not careless hands 

On skulls that cannot teach, and will not learn ! 



23, UTILITY OF HISTORY. — Ori^ma; Translation from De Sigur. B. 1763; i. 183a 

Whatever your career, a knowledge of history will always be to 
you a source of profit and delight. Examples strike deeper than 
precepts. They serve as proofs to 3onvince, and as images to attract. 
History gives us the experience of tne woild, and the collective reason 
of ages. We are organized likf aicn of the remotest times; we have 
the same virtues and the same vices; and. hurried forward, like them, 
by our passions, we listen with distrust to those warnings of wisdom 
which would thwart our inclinations. But History is an impartial 
•nstructor, whose reasonings, which are facts, we cannot gainsay. It 
exhibits to us the Past, to prefigure the Future. It is the mirror of 
truth. Nations and men, the most renowned, are judged in our eyes 
from a point of time which destroys all illusion, and with a singleness 
of purpose which no surviving interest can mislead. 

Before the tribunal of History, conquerors descend from their tri- 
•imphal cars ; tyrants are no longer formidable by their satellites ; 
prince? appear before us unattended by their retinue, and stripped of 
that false grandeur with which Flattery saw them invested. You 
detest, without danger, the ferocity of Nero, the cruelties of Sylla, 
the hypocrisy of Tiberius, the licentiousness of Caligula. If you 
have seen Dionysius terrible at Syracuse, you behold him humbled at 
Corinth, The plaudits of an inconstant multitude do not delude 
your judgment in favor of the envious traducers of the good and 
great , and you follow, with enthusiasm, the virtuous Socrates to his 
prison, the just Aristides into exile. If you admire the valor of 
Alexander on the banks of the TranTcus, on the plains of Arbela, — 
fou condemn, without fear, that unmeasured ambition wliich hurr;e<J 



iflORAl, AND DIDACTIC. CHAL1IKB8. 57 

«<n. to tLc recesses of India, and that profligacy ^liicli, at T>AbyIon, 
tarnished the close of his career. The love of liberty, cherished bj 
the Greeks, may kindle your soul ; but their jealousies, their ficLIe- 
ness, theii- ingratitude, their sanguinary quarrels, their corruption of 
manners, at once announce and explain to you their ruin. If Rome, 
with her colossal power, excite your astonishment, you shall not fail 
Boon to distinguish the virtues which constituted her grandeur, fronj 
the vices which precipitated her flill. Everywhere shall you recog« 
iiize the proof of this antique maxim, that, in the end, only what is 
honest is useful ; that we are truly great only through justice, and 
entirely happy only through virtue. Time dispenses equitably its 
recompenses and its chastisements ; and we may measure the growth 
and the decline of a People by the purity or corruption of their morals. 
Virtue is the enduring cement of the power of Nations ; and without 
that, their ruin is inevitable ! 



24. FALSE COLORING LENT TO WAR. — TAoma.* Chalmers. Born, 1T80 ; dj«d, 1847 

On every side of me I see causes at work which go to spread a 
most dclasive coloring over war, and to remove its shocking barbarities 
to the back-ground of our contemplations altogether. I see it in the 
history which tells me of the superb appearance of the ti'oops, and tht 
brilliancy of their successive charges. I see it in the poetry whicK 
lends the magic of its numbers to the narrative of blood, and trans- 
ports its many admirers, as by its images, and its figures, and its nod 
ding plumes of chivalry, it throws its treacherous embellishments over 
a scene of legalized slaughter. I see it in the music which represents 
the progi-ess of the battle ; and where, after being inspired by the 
trumpet-notes of preparation, the whole beauty and tenderness of a 
drawing-room are seen to bend over the sentimental entertainment ; 
nor do I hear the utterance of a single sigh to interrupt the death- 
tones of the thickening contest, and the moans of the wounded men, 
as they fade away upon the ear, and sink into lifeless silence. 

All, all, goes to prove what strange and half-sighted creatures wo 
ire. Were it not so, war could never have been seen in any other 
aspect than that of unmingled hatefulness ; and I can look to nothing 
but to the progress of Christian sentiment upon earth to arrest the 
strong current of the popular and prevailing partiality for war. Thau 
only will an im])erious sense of duty lay the check of severe prin 
uiple on all the subordinate tastes and faculties of our nature. Then 
will glory be reduced to its right estimate, and the wakeful benevo- 
lence of the Gospel, chasing away every spell, will be turned by the 
i^-jachery of no delusion whatever from its simple but sublime enter- 
prises for the good of the species. Then the reign of truth and quiet' 
ness will be ushered into the world, and war — cruel, atncious 
anrelentmg war — will be stripped of its many and its i>ewildering 
^scinations. 



68 THE P.TANDARD 8PEABLER. 



SS< DEATH'S FINAL CO'S^VEST.— James Shirley. Bom, 1594 i 4'e«. 1« 

The glories of our blood and staie 

Are shadows, not substantial things ; 
There is no, armor against Fate; 
Death lays his icy hand on Kings ' 
Sceptre, Crown, 
Must tumble down, 
And in the dust be equal made 
With the poor crooked scythe and spade. 

Some men with swords may reap the field, 
And plant fresh laurels where they kill ; 
But their strong nerves at last must yield, — 
They tame but one another still. 
Early or late. 
They stoop to Fate, 
And must give up their conquering breath, 
When they, pale captives, creep to Death. 

The garlands wither on your brow ! — 

Then boast no more your mighty 
Upon Death's purple altar now 
See where the victor-victim bleeds ! 
All heads must come 
To the cold tomb : 
Only the actions of the just 
Smell sweet, and blossom in the dust. 



« aELIQION OF REVOLUTIONARY MEN. — Ort^na/ Adaptation from Lamarttnt 

I KNOW — I sigh when I think of it ^ that hitherto the French 
People have been the least religious of all the Nations of Europe. 
The great men of other countries live and die on the scene of history, 
Looking up to Heaven. Our great men live and die looking at the 
L'ptiCtator ; or, at most, at posterity. Open the history of America 
the history of England, and the history of France. Washington 
and Franklin fought, spoke and suffered, always in the name of God, 
for whom they acted ; and the liberator of America died confiding to 
God the liberty of the People and his own soul. Sidney, the young 
martyr of a patriotism guilty of nothing but impatience, and who 
lied to expiate his country's dream of liberty, said to his jailer, " I 
fojoice that I die innocent toward the king, but a victim, resigned to 
the King on High, to whom all life is due." The RepuVicans of 
Cromwell scught only the way of God, even in the blood of battles 
But look at Mirabeau on the bed of death. " Crown me with flow 
srs ' said he ; " intoxicate me with perfumes, he* me die to tho 
HT'und of delicious music." Not a word was there of God or of his 



ili<jRXh AND DIDACTIC. — MILTOi* 51/ 

asm boul! Sensual philosopher, supreme sensualism was lii.s la^t 
desire in his agony ! Contemplate Madame Roland, the strong-hearted 
woman of the Revolution, on the cart that conveyed her to death. 
Not a glance toward Heaven ! Only one word for the earth she wae 
quitting : " O Liberty, what crimes in thy name are committed ! " 
Approach the dungeon door of the Girondins. Tiieir last night is a 
banquet, — their only hymn the Marseillaise ! Hear Danton on the 
platform of the scaffold : " I have had a good time of it ; let me go 
to sleep." Then, to the executioner : "You will show my head to the 
People ; it is worth the trouble ! '' His faith, annihilation ; his last 
sigh, vanity ! 

Behold the Frenchman of this latter age ! What must one think, of 
the religious sentiment of a free People, whoso groat figures seem ttius 
to march in procession to annihilation, and to whom death itself recalla 
neither the threatenings nor the promises of God ! The Republic 
of these men without a God was quiclcly stranded. The liberty, won 
by so much heroism and so much genius, did not find in France a con- 
science to shelter it, a God to avenge it, a People to defend it, against 
that Atheism which was called glory. All ended in a soldier, and 
some apostate republicans travestied into courtiers. An atheistic 
Republicanism cannot be heroic. When you terrify it, it yields. 
When you would buy it, it becomes venal. It would be very foolish 
to immolate itself. Who would give it credit for the sacrifice, — the 
People ungrateful, and God non-existent ? So finish atheistic Lev- 
olutions ' 



IT THK SAVIOUR'S REPLT TO THETEMV^ER.— John Milton. Bom, 1608 ; dietS i«« A 

Thou neither dost persuade me to seek wealth 

For empire's sake, nor empire to affect 

For glory's sake, by all thy argument. 

Extol not riches, then, the toil of fools, 

The wise man's cumbrance, if not snare ; more apt 

To slacken Virtue, and abate her edge, 

Than prompt her to do aught may merit praise 

Wliat if, with like aversion, I reject 

Riches and realms ? Yet not, for that a Crown, 

Golden in show, is but a wreath of thorns, — 

Brings dangers, troubles, cares, and sleepless nighte 

For herein stands the virtue of a King, 

That for the public all this weight he bears : — 

Yet he, who reigns within himself, and rules 

Passions, desires and fears, is more a King ! 

This, every wise and virtuous man attains, 

And who attains not, ill aspires to rule 

Cities of men, or headstrong multitudes, - 

Subject himself to anarchy within ! 

To know, and, knowing, worship God aright 



60 THE STANDARD SPEAKE&. 

fs yet Jiore kingly : this attracts the soifl, 
Governs the inner man, the nobler part 
That other o'er the body only reigns, 
And oft by force, which, to a generous mind 
So reigning, can be no sincere delight. 

They err who count it glorious to subdue 
G-reat cities by assault. What do these worth lea 
But rob and spoil, burn, slaughter and enslave 
Peaceable Nations, neighboring or remote 
Made captive, yet deserving freedom more 
Than those their conquerors, who leave behind 
Nothing but ruin wheresoe'er they rove. 
And all the flourishing works of peace destroy ; 
Then swell with pride, and must be titled Gods, 
Great benefactors of mankind, deliverers. 
Worshipped with temple, priest, and sacrifice ' 
One is the son of Jove, of Mars the other ; 
Till conqueror Death discover them scarce men, 
* Rolling in brutish vices, and deformed, — 

Violent or shameful death their due reward ! 

But, if there be in glory aught of good. 

It may by means far different be attained, 

Without ambition, war, or violence ; 

By deeds of peace, by wisdom eminent, 

By patience, temperance. 

Shall I seek glory, then, as vain men seek, 

Oft not deserved ? I seek not mine, but His 

Who sent me ; and thereby witness whence I am ! 



28. NOBILITT OF LABOR.— iJeu. Om«e Dett'et/. 

1 CALL upon those whom 1 address to stand up for the nobility :f 
la»>or. It is Heaven's great ordinance for human improvement. Le« 
not that great ordinance be broken down. What do I say ? It it 
broken down ; and it has been broken down, for ages. Let it, then, 
be built up again ; here, if anywhere, on these shores of a new 
world, — of a new civilization. But how, I may be asked, is it 
broken down ? Do not men toil ? it may be said. They do, indeed, 
fcc^il ; but they too generally do it because they must. Many submit to 
it as, in some sort, a degrading necessity ; and they desire nothing go ' 
much on earth as escape from it. They fulfil the great law of laboi 
in the letter, but break it in the spirit ; fulfil it with the muscle, but 
break it with the mind. To some field of labor, mental or manual, 
every idler should fasten, as a chosen and coveted theatre of im- 
provement. But so is he not impelled to do, under the teachings of 
Dur imperfrct civilization. On the contrary, he sits down, folds bis 
cands, and blesses tumself in his idleness. This way of thinking v 



MORAL AND DIDACTIC. — OSGOOD. 61 

the heritage of the absurd and unjust feudal system, andci which 
«erfs labored, and gentlemen spent their lives in fighting and feasting. 
It is time that this opprobrium of toil were done away. Ashamed to 
toil, art thou ? Ashamed of thy dingy work-shop and dusty labor- 
field ; of thy hard hand, scarred with service more honorable than 
that of war ; of thy soiled and weather-stained garments, on wliich 
mother Nature has embroidered, midst sun and rain, midst fire aci 
Bteara, her own heraldic honors ? Ashamed of these tokens and titles, 
and envious of the flaunting robes of imbecile idleness and vanity ? 
It is treason to Nature, — it is impiety to Heaven, — it is bieaking 
Heaven's groat ordinance. Toil, I repeat — toil, either of the braiu, 
of the heart, or of the hand, is the only true manhood, the only trua 
aohility 

29 LABOR IS WORSHIP.— Frances S. Osgood. Born, 1812; died, 1850. 
Laborare eat orare — To labor is to pray. 

Pause not to dream of the future before us ; 
Pause not to weep the wild cares that come o'er us ; 
Hark, how Creation's deep, musical chorus, 

Unintermitting, goes up into Heaven ! 
Never the ocean wave falters in flowing ; 
Never the little seed stops in its growing ; 
More and more richly the rose-heart keeps glowing, 

Till from its nourishing stem it is riven. 

" Labor is worship ! " — the robin is singing ; 
" Labor is worship I " — the wild bee is ringing : 
Listen ! that eloquent whisper upspringing 

Speaks to thy soul from out Nature's great heart. 
From the dark cloud flows the life-giving shower; 
From the rough sod blows the soft-breathing flower ; 
From the small insect, the rich coral bower ; 

Only man, in the plan, shrinks from his part. 

Labor is life ! 'Tis the still water faileth ; 

Idleness ever despaireth, bewaileth ; 

Keep the watch wound, for the dark rust assaileth ;; 

Flowers droop and die in the stillness of noon. 
Labor is glory ! — the fl}nng cloud lightens : 
Only the waving wing changes and brightens 
Idle hearts only the dark future frightens ; 

Play the sweet keys, wouldst thou keep theio in 'Jem 

Labor is rest from the sorrows that greet us, 
Rest from all petty vexations that meet us, 
Rest from sin-promptings that ever entreat us, 

Rest from world-sirens that lure us to ill. 
Work — and pure slumbers shall wait on thy pillojp 
Work — thou shalt ride over Care's coming billow • 



62 



THE STANDARD SPEAKEll. 

liie not down wearied 'neath Woe's weeping-willoT? ! 
Work with ? stout heart and resolute will ' 

Labor is health . Lo ! the husbandman reaping, 
How through his veins goes the life-current leaping 
How his strong arm, in its stalwart pride sweeping, 

True as a sunbeam, the swift sickle guides ! 
Jjabor is wealth — in the sea the pearl groweth ; 
Rich the queen's robe from the frail cocoon floweth ; 
Prom the fine acorn the strong forest bloweth ; 

Temple and statue the marble block hides. 

Droop not, though shame, sin and anguish, are round thee 
Bravely fling off the cold chain that hath bound thee ! 
Look to yon pure Heaven smiling beyond thee; 

Rest not content in thy darkness — a clod ! 
Work — for some good, be it ever so slowly ; 
Cherish some flower, be it ever so lowly ; 
Labor ! — all labor is noble and holy ; 

Let thy great deeds be thy prayer to thy God ' 



so. M'lRAL AND PHYSICAL SCIENCE FRIENDLY TO FREEDOM.— fieu.JJ.H. CA<ipm 

No cause is so bound up with religion as the cause of political 
libe'-ty and the rights of man. Unless I have read history back- 
ward, — unless Magna Charta is a mistake, and the Bill of Rights 
a sham, and the Declaration of Independence a contumacious false- 
hood, — unless the sages, and heroes, and martyrs, who have fought 
and bled, were impostors, — unless the sublimest transactions in mod- 
ern history, on Tower Hill, in the Parliaments of London, on the 
sea-tossed Mayflower, — unless these are all deceitful, there is no 
cause so linked with religion as the cause of Democratic liberty. 

And, Sir, not only are all the moral principles, which we can snm- 
raon up, on the side of this great cause, but the physical movementj« 
•jf the age attend it and advance it. Nature is Republican. The dis- 
coveries of Science are Republican. Sir, what are these new forces., 
«team and electricity, but powers that are levelling all factitious dis» 
tinctions, and forcing the world on to a noble destiny ? Have thej 
lot already propelled the nineteenth century a thousar.d years ahead ] 
WhsA are they but the servitors of the People, and not jf a class ? 
Does not the poor man of to-day ride in a car dragged by forces such 
is never waited on Kings, or drove the wheels of triumphal chariots ' 
Does he not joke the lightning, and touch the magnetic nerves of the 
world ? The steam-engine is a Democrat. It is the popular heart 
hat throbs in its iron pulses. And the electric telegraph writes upon 
:he walls of Despotism, Merit, mene, tekel wpkarsin! There- is a 
process going on in the moral and political world, — like that in 
^e ohysisaJ world, — cmmbling +he old Saurian *brms of jast agos, 



SlOllAL A^D DIDACTIC, — BETHUNE. Od 

and breaking up old landmarks ; and this moral process is ^rorliing 
under Neapolitan dungeons and Austrian Thrones ; and, Sir, it will 
tumble over your Metternicbs and Nicholases, and convert your 
Jceephs into fossils. I repeat it. Sir, not only are all the moral p»riQ- 
ei]ile8of tho age, but all the physical principles of nature, as developed 
by man, at work in behalf of freedom. 

Live, and take comfort. Thou hast left behina 
Powers that will work for thee; earth, air, and skies: 
There 's not a breathing of the common wind; 
That will forget thee ; thou hast great allies; 
Thy friends are exultations, agonies, 
And love, and Man's unconquerable mind. 



$x. THE ORDER OF HATVKE.— Alexander rope. Born, 1688; died, 1744 

All are but parts of one stupendous whole, 
Whose body nature is, and God the soul ; 
That, changed through all, and yet in all the same, 
Great in the Earth, as in the ethereal frame, 
Warms in the Sun, refreshes in the breeze, 
jrlows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees, 
Lives through all life, extends through all extent 
Spreads undivided, operates unspent ; 
Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part, 
As ftiU, as perfect, in a hair as heart; 
As full, as perfect, in vile Man that mourns. 
As the rapt Seraph that adores and burns : 
To Him, no high, no low, no great, no small ; 
He fills. He bounds, connects, and equals all. 

(Jease, then, nor Order Imperfection narao, — 
Our proper bliss depends on what we blame. 
Know thy own point : This kind, this due degree 
Of blindness, weakness. Heaven bestows on thee. 
Submit ; — in this, or any other sphere, 
, Secure to be as blest as thou canst bear, — 
Safe in the hand of one Disposing Power, 
Or in the natal, or the mortal hour. 
Ail Nature is but Art, unknown to thee ; 
All Chance, Direction, which thou canst not see ; 
All Discord, Harmony not understood ; 
All partial Evil, uni versa Good : 
And, spite of Pride, in erring Reason's spite, 
One truth is clear : Whatever is, is right. 



ja PUTITRE empire of our language. — iJeu. George W. Bethun* 

."ME products of the whole world are, or may soon be, found witbio 
»w confederate limits. Already there had been a salutary mixture 
»f blood, but not enough to impair the Anglo Saxon ascendency. The 



*J4 the STA^l/AKD SPEAKER. 

Nation gitiw morally strong froM its original elements. The g)';a\ 
work was delayeii only by a just preparation. Now, Grod is bringing 
hither the most vigorous scions from all the European stocks, to make 
of them all one new man ; — not the Saxon, not the German, not tha 
Graul, not the Helvetian, but the American. Here they will unite as 
one brotherhood, will have one law, will share one interest. Spread 
over the vast region from the frigid to the torrid, from the Eastern t€ 
the Western Ocean, every variety of climate giving them choice of 
pureuit and modification of temperament, the ballot-box fusing together 
all rivalries, they shall have one national will. What is wanting in 
one race will be supplied by the characteristic energies of the others , 
and what is excessive in either, checked by the counter action of the 
rest. Nay, though for a time the newly-come may retain their foreign 
vernacular, our tongue, so rich in ennobling literatui-e, will be the 
tongue of the Nation, the language of its laws, and the accent of its 
majesty. Eternal God, who seest the end with the beginning. Thou 
alone canst tell the ultimate grandeur of this People ! 

Such, Gentlemen, is the sphere, present and future, in which GtDd 
calls us to v/ork for Him, for our country, and for mankind. The 
language in which we utter truth will be spoken on this Continent, a 
century hence, by thirty times more millions than those dwelling on the 
island of its origin. The openings for trade on the Pacific coast, and 
the railroad across the Isthmus, will bring the commerce of the world 
under the control of our race. The empire of our language will 
follow that of our commerce ; the empire of our institutions, that of 
our language. The man who writes successfully for America will y"< 
speak for all the world. 



33. COMPENSATIONS OF TJIE IMAGINATION. — .4i-enxiae. 

BLEST of Heaven, whom not the languid songs 

Of Luxury, the Siren ! not the bribes 

Of sordid Wealth, nor all the gaudy spoils 

Of pageant Honor, can seduce to leave 

Those ever-blooming sweets, which from the store 

Of Nature fair Imagination culls 

To charm the enlivened soul ! WTiat though not all 

Of mortal oiFspring can attain the height 

Of envied life; though only few possess 

Patrician treasures or imperial state ; ■ 

Yet Nature's care, to all her children jusi, 

With richer treasures and an ampler state 

Endows at large whatever happy man 

Will deign to use them. His the city's pomp, 

The rural honors his ! Whate'er adorns 

The princely dome, the column, and the arch, 

The breathing marbles, and the sculptured gold 



MORAL ANI. DIDACllC. CHANNINQ 95 

Beyond the proud possessor's narrow claim, 

His tuneful breast enjoys ! For liiin, the Spriug 

Distils her dews, and from the silken germ 

Its lucid leaves unfolds : for him, the hand 

Of Autumn tinges every fertile branch 

With blooming gold, and blushes like the morn. 

Each passing Hour sheds tribute from her wings 

And still new Beauties meet his lonely walk, 

And Lovas unfelt attract him Not a breeze 

Flies o'er the meadow, not a cloud imbibes 

The setting sun's effulgence, not a strain 

From all the tenants of the warbling shade 

Ascends, but whence his bosom can partake 

Fresh pleasure, unreproved : nor thence partakes 

Fresh pleasure only : for the attentive mind, 

By this harmonious action on her powers, 

Becomes herself harmonious. — Thus the men 

"WTiom Nature's works can charm, with God Himself 

Hold converse ; grow familiar, day by day, 

With His conceptions, act upon His plan, 

And form to His the relish of their souls. 



84 fHl! GREAT DISTINCTION OP A NATION. — W. E. Channing. B. 1780 ; d >S4a 

The great distinction of a Nation — the only one worth possessing, 
and which brings after it all other blessings — is the prevalence of 
pure principle among the Citizens. I wish to belong to a State in 
the character and institutions of which I may find a spring of im- 
provement, which I can speak of with an honest pride; in whoso 
njcords I may meet great and honored names, and which is fiist mak- 
ing the world its debtor by its discoveries of truth, and by an example 
of virtuous freedom. 0, save me fi"om a country which worships 
wealth, and cares not for true glory ; in which intrigue bears rule ; in 
which patriotism borrows its zeal from the prospect of office ; in whi^h 
hungry sycophants throng with supplication all the departments of 
State ; in which public men bear the brand of private vice, and the 
e<'at of Government is a noisome sink of private licentiousness ar?d 
public 'orruption. 

T-jll me not of the honor of belonging to a free country. I ask. 
i*s oar liberty hear gr.nerous fruits? I>oes it exalt tis in raanlv 
Spirit, in public virtue, above countries trodden under foot by Dewpot- 
ism ? T3II me not of the extent of our country. I care not how 
large it is, if it multiply degenerate men. Speak not of our pros- 
Derity. Batter be one of a poor People, plain in manners, reverenc- 
ing God, and respecting themselves, than belong to a rich country, 
winch knows no higher good than riches. Earnestly do I desire for 
ihuo "ountry, that, instead of copying Europe with an undiscernmg 
5 



66 THE STANDARD SPEaF^K. 

mlity, it may have a cliaracter of its own, oorrespouding to nhft 
freedom and equality of our institutions. One Europe is enough 
One Paris is enough. How much to be desired is it, that, separated, 
as we are, from the Eastern continent, by an ocean, we should be still 
more widely separated by simplicity of manners, by domestic parity, 
by inward piety, by reverence for human nature, by moral independ" 
eace, by withstanding the subjection to fashion, and that debilitatiaa' 
gesssuality, which characterize the most civilized portions of the Old 
World ! Of this country, I may say, with peculiar emphasis, that it& 
happiness is bound up in its virtue ! 



35. WHAT MAKES A HERO? — Henry Taylor. 

What makes a hero ? — not success, not fame, 
Inebriate merchants, and the loud acclaim 
Of glutted Avarice, — caps tossed up in air, 
Or pen of journalist with flourish fair ; 
Bells pealed, stars, ribbons, and a titular name — 

These, though his rightftil tribute, he can spare ; 
His rightful tribute, not his end or aim, 
Or true reward ; for never yet did these 
Refresh the soul, or set the heart at ease 
What makes a hero ? — An heroic mind. 
Expressed in action, in endurance proved . 
And if there be preeminence of right, 
Derived through pain well sufFeped, to the height 
Of rank heroic, 't is to bear unmoved. 
Not toU, not risk, not rage of sea or wind, 
Not the brute fury of barbarians blind, 

But worse — ingratitude and poisonous darts. 
Launched by the country he had served and loved . 
This, with a free, unclouded spirit pure, 
This, in the strength of silence to endure, 
A dignity to noble deeds imparts, 
Beyond the gauds and trappings of renown • 
This is the hero's complement and crown 5 
This missed, one struggle had been wanting still, — 
One glorious triumph of the heroic will. 
One self-approval in his heart of hearts. 



86. THE LAST HOURS OF &OCKATES. — Original Adaptation. 

S(K3RATE8 was the reverse of a sceptic. No man ever looked upcia 
life with a more positive and practical eye. No man ever pursued hie 
mark with a clearer perception of the road which he was trav«>lling 
No man ever combined, in like manner, the absorbing enthusiasm of a 
missionary, with the acuteness, the originality, the inventive r«50uri5e&. 



MORAL AND DIDACIXC. TANKES. 67 

tod tne generalizing comprehension, of a ph-ilosopher . And jet frtia 
man was condenmeil to death, — condemned by a hostile tribunal of 
more than five hundred citizens of Athens, drawn at hazard from all 
classes of society. A majority of six turned the scale, in the most 
momentous trial that, up to that time, the world had witnssRw:!. 
And the vague charges on which Socrates was condemned were, that 
ho was a vain babbler, a corrupter of youth, and a setter-forth of 
sttaige Gods! 

It would be tempting to enlarge on the closing scene of hit life, — a 
scene which Plato has invested with guch immortal glory; — on the 
affecting farewell to the Judges ; on the long thirty days which passed 
in prison before the execution of the verdict ; on his playful equa- 
nimity, amid the uncontrollable emotions of his companions ; on the 
gathering in of that solemn evening, when the fading of the sunset 
hues on the tops of the Athenian hills was the signal that the last 
hour was at hand ; on the introduction of the fatal hemlock ; the 
immovable countenance of Socrates, the firm nand, and then the 
burst of frantic lamentation from all his friends, as, with his habitual 
ease jhid cheerfulness, he drained the cup to its dregs ; then the sol- 
emn silence enjoined by himself ; the pacing to and fro; the strong 
religious persuasions attested by his last words ; the cold palsy of the 
poison creeping from the extremities to the heart ; the gradual torpor 
ending in death ! But I must forbear. 

for a modern spirit like his ! for one hour of Socrates ! 
for one hour of that voice whose questioning would make men see 
what they knew, and what they did not know ; what they meant, and 
what they only thought they meant ; what they believed in truth, and 
what they only believed in name ; wherein they agreed, and wherein 
they differed. That voice is, indeed, silent ; but there is a voiet; m 
each man's heart and conscience, which, if we will, Socrates has tiivijht 
us to use rightly. That voice still enjoins us to give to ourselves a 
reason for the hope that is in us, — both hearing and asking questions. 
It tells us, that the fancied repose which seif'-inquiry disturbs is more 
than compensated by the real repose which it gives ; that a wise ques- 
tioning is the half of knowledge ; and that a life without self-examio ■ 
atioi is no life at all. 



37. TO A CniLD. — ysiiiee. 

Things of high import sound I in thine ears, 

Dear child, though now thou mayst not feel their power; 

But hoard them up, and in thy coming years 

Forget them not, and when earth's tea ptets lower, 

A talisman unto thee shall they be, 

To give thy weak arm strength — to make thy dim eyes seft 

Seek Truth, — that pure celestial Truth, — whose birth 
M'^as in the Heaven of Heavens, clear, sacred, shrined 



58 THE STANDARD SPEAKBE. 

In I Reason's light. — Not oft she visits earth, 

But her majestic port, the willing mind. 
Through Faith, may sometimes see. Give her thy sovli 
Nor faint, though Error's surges loudly 'gainst thee R)Ii 

Be free — not chiefly from the iron chain^ 
But from the one which Passion forges- — be 

T!ie master of thyself. If lost, regain 

The rule o'er chance, sense, circumstance. Be free. 

Trample thy proud lusts proudly 'neath thy feet. 

And stand erect, as for a heaven-born one is meet. 

Seek Virtue. Wear her armor to the fight ; 

Then, as a wrestler gathers strength from strife, 
Shalt thou be nerved to a more vigorous might 

By each contending, turbulent ill of life. 
Seek Virtue. — She alone is all divine ; 
And having found, be strong, in God's own strength and tli.n« 

Truth — Freedom — Virtue — these, dear child, have power 

If rightly cherished, to uphold, sustain, 
And bless thy spirit, in its darkest hour ; 

Neglect them — thy celestial gifts are vain — 
In dust shall thy weak wing be dragged and soiled ; 
Tliy soul be crushed 'neath gauda for which it basely toiled 



38. AMERICA'S CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE WORLD. —eu/ion C. Verplanek. 

What, it is asked, has this Nation done to repay the world for the 
oenefits we have received from others ? — Is it nothing for the uni- 
persal good of mankind to have carried into successful operation a 
Bvstem of self-government, — uniting personal liberty, freedom of opin- 
ion, and equality of rights, with national power and dignity, — such as 
nad before existed only in the Utopian dreams of philosophers ? Is it 
nothing, in moral science, to have anticipated, in sober reality, numer- 
ous plans of reform in civil and criminal jurisprudence, which are, 
Dut now received as plausible theories by the politicians and econo- 
aiii-ts of Europe ? Is it nothing to have been able to caU forth, on 
every emergency, either in war or peav^e, a tody of talents always 
equal to the difficulty ? Is it nothing to have, in less than half a 
Ointury, exceedingly improved the sciences of political eacsomy, of 
law, and of medicine, with all their auxiliary branches- to have 
enriched himian knowledge by the accumulation of a great mass of 
'iseful facts and observations, and to have augmented thu power and 
the comforts of civilized man by miracles of mechanical invention? 
Is it nothing to have given the world examples of disinterested patri- 
Dtism, of political wisdom, of public virtue; of learoing, eloqueQCO 
4d4 vaior, never exerted save for some praiseworthy end? It m 



MORAL AND DU ACTIO. ROUSSEAU. 69 

lufiScient to have briefly suggested these considerations; evorj mind 
would anticipate nie in filling up the details. 

No, Land of Liberty ! — thy children have no cause to blxLsh for 
ebee. What, though the arts have reared few monuments among 
us, and scarce a trace of the Mu.se's footstep is found in the patb» of 
our forests, or along the banlcs of our rivers, — yet our soil IvxB been 
consecrated by the blood of heroes, and by great and holy deeds of 
peace. Its wide extent has become one vast temple, and hallowed 
asylum, sanctified by the prayers and blessings of the persecuted of 
every sect, and the wretched of all Nations. Land of Refuge, — 
Land of Benedictions ! — Those prayers still arise, and they still are 
heard : "May peace be within thy wails, and plenteousness within thy 
palaces ! " " JMay there be no decay, no leading into captivity, and n<i 
complaining, in thy streets ! " " May truth flourish out of the earth, 
and righteousness look down from Heaven ! " 



39. THE TRUE KING. — Tran.ilated from Seneca, bi/ Leixh Hunt. 

'T IS not wealth that mals es a King, 
Nor the purple coloring ; 
Nor a brow that 's bound with gold, 
l^for gate on mighty hinges rolled. 

The King is ht,, who, void of fear^ 
Looks abroad with bosom clear ; 
Who can tread ambition down. 
Nor be swayed by smile or frown ; 
Nor for all the treasure cares, 
That mine conceals, or harvest wears, 
Or that golden sands deliver, 
Bosomed in a glassy river. 

What shall move his placid might ? 
Not the headlong thunder-light, 
Nor all the shapes of slaughter's trade, 
With onward lance, or fiery blade. 
Safe, with wisdom for his crown. 
He looks on all things calmly down, 
He welcomes E'ate, when Fate is near 
Nor taints his dying breath with fear. 

No — to fear not earthly thing. 
This it is that makes the King ; . 
And all of us, whoe'er we be 
May carve us out that royalty. 



'« DEAia iS COMPENSATION. — Orig-ina/ Trans, from Rouxneau. B. 1712 ■, 4. 17T8 

The more intimately I enter into communion with myself, — the 
wore I consult my own inteUiv^ence, — the more legibly do I find writ' 



"O THE STANDARD BPEAEEK. 

'ten In my soui these word? Be msi. anv thou shali ee happ? 
But let i.is not base our expectation;? upon the present state of things. 
The wi'^kcd prosper, and the just remain oppressea. At this frus- 
tration of our hopes, our indignation is kindlea. • Conscience takes 
umbrage, and murmurs against its Author . 't murmurs. " Thou hast 
deceived me!"' — "I have deceived thee, say'st thou' Hovs^ dost 
thou knovf it ^ Who has proclaimed it to thee ' Ls thy soul anni- 
hilated ? Hast thou ceased to exist ? 0, Brutus 0, my son '. Soil 
act tliy noble life by turning thine own hand against it Leave not 
thy hope and thy glory with thy mortal lx)dy on the field' of Phili{.;^i. 
V^'^hy dost thou say, virtue is nothing, when thou goest to enjoy th«. 
price of thitie ? Thou goest to die, thou thinkest ; no, thou goest to 
live, and it is then that I shall fulfil all that I have promised thee/ 

One would say, from the murmurs of impatient mortals, that God 
owed them recompense before merit, and that He ought to requite 
their virtue in advance. ! let us first be good, and afterwards we 
shall be happy. Let us not exact the prize before the victory, nor the 
wages before the labor. It is not on the course, says Plutarch, that 
the conquerors in our games are crowned ; it is after thej^ have gone 
ever it. If the soul is immaterial, it can survive the ix)dy ; and, in 
that survival. Providence is justified. Though I were to have no 
other proof of the immateriality of the soul than the triumph of the 
wicked and the oppression of the just in this world, that spectacle 
alone would prevent my doubting the reality of the life after death. 
So shocking a dissonance in this universal harmony would make me 
^ek to explain it. I should say to myself: "All does not finish for 
ae with this mortal life ; what succeeds shall make concord of what 
?eat befi)re." 



FATK Of CHARLES THE TWELFTH.— SaTOwei Johnson. Born, 1709; died. 1784 

On what foundation stands the warrior's prida 
How just his hopes, let Swedish Charles decide' 
A frame of adamant, a soul of fire, 
No dangers fright him, and no labors tire ; 
O'er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain, 
Unconquered lord of pleasure and of pain ; 
No joys to him pacific sceptres yield, 
War sounds the trump, he rushes to the field , 
Behold surrounding Kings their powers combine. 
And one capitulate, and one resign-; 
Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms ii? vam , 
" Think nothing gained," he cries, " till naught reumia ' 
On Moscow's walls till Gothic standards fly, 
And all be mine beneath the Polar sky." 
The march begins in military state, 
And Nations on his eye suspended wa't 
Stern Famine guards the soiitairy coast, 



>JOEAL AND DIDACTIC. — BTORI. 

And WiuttT barricades the realms of Frott ; 
fie coraes — nor want nor cold his course delij^ ', - 
Hide, blushing Glory, hide Pultowa's day! 
The vanquished hero leaves his broken bauds, 
And shows his miseries in distant lands ; 
Conuemned a needy supplicant to wait, 
While ladies interpose, and slaves debate. 
But did not Chance at length her error mend * 
Did no subverted empire mark his end ? 
Did rival monarchs give the fatal wound ? 
Or hostile millions press him to the ground ? 
His fall was destined to a barren strand, 
A petty fortress, and a dubious hand ; 
lie left the name, at which the world grew pale, 
To point a moral, or adorn a tale ! 



42. OXJR BUi^IES TO TUE REPUBLIC.— ./udg-e Story. Born, 1779 ; died, 1848 

The oh World has already revealed to us, in its unsealed books, the 
beginning und end of ail its own marvellous struggles in the cause of 
liberty. Groses, lovely G-reece, 

*' The land of scholars and the nurse of arms," 

where Sister Republics, in fair procession, chanted the praises of lib- 
e)"ty and the Gods, — where aad what is she ? For two thousand 
years the oppressor lias ground her to the earth. Her arts are m. 
more. The last sad relics of her temples are but the barracks of a 
ruthless soldiery. The fragments of her columns and her palaces are 
in the dust, yet beautiful in ruins. Slie fell not when the mighty 
were upon her. Her sons vvere united at Thermopylfe and Marathon , 
and the tide ox her triumph rolled back upon the Hellespont. She 
was conquered by her own factions. She fell by the hands of her 
own People. The man of Macedonia did not the work of destruction. 
It was already done, by her own corruptions, banishments, and dis- 
sensions. Rome, rep'ubiican Rome, whose eagles glanced in the rising 
and setting sun, ~ wh-ere and what is she? The eternal city yet 
remains, proud even in her desoiation, noble in her decline, venerably 
in the majesty of religion, and calm as in the composure of death.. 
The malaria has but travelled in the paths worn by her destroyers. 
Alore than eighteen centuries have mourned over the loss of her 
eaapire. A mortal disease was upon her vitals before Caesar had 
crossed the Rubicon ; and Brutus did not restore her health by the 
deep probings of the Senate-chamber. The Goths, and Vandals, 
and Huns, the swarms of the North, completed only what was alreadv 
begun at home. Romans betrayed Rome. The Legions were bought 
and sold ; but the People offered the tribute money. 

We stand the latest, and, if we fail, probably the last experiment 
oJ self-government by the Pe/)ple. We have begun it upder eircunv 



72 THE STANDAE,B SPEAKEil. 

stances :A' the most auspicious nature. We are in the vigor o.» 
youth. Our growth has never been checked by the opjDressions ol 
tyranny. Our constitutions have never been enfeebled bv the vicei 
or luxuries of the Old World. Such as we are, we have beeii from the 
beginning, — simple, hardy, intelligent, accustomed to self-government, 
and to self-respect. The Atlantic rolls between us and any formi- 
dable foe. Within our own territory, stretching through many degreef 
if latitude and longitude, we have the choice of many products, and 
fliany means of independence. The Government is mild. The Press 
Is free. Religion is free. Knowledge reaches, or may reach, every 
home. What fairer prospect of success could be presented ? What 
means more adequate to accomplish the sublime end ? Wliat more l^ 
necessary than for the People to preserve what they have themselves 
created ? Already has the age caught the spirit of our institutions. 
It has already ascended the Andes, and snufied the breezes of both 
oceans. It has infused itself into the life-blood of Europe, and warmed 
the sunny plains of France and the low lands of Holland. It has 
touched the philosophy of Germany and the North ; and, moving 
onward to the South, has opened to Greece the lessons of her bet- 
ter days. Can it be that America, under such circumstances, caa 
oetray herself? Can it be that she is to be added to the cataLgue 
or Republics, the inscription upon whose ruins is : They weke, Btrj 
THKY ARS NOT ? Forbid it, my countrymen ! Forbid it, Heavor 



43. LOVS OF COUNTKY AND UOMTS. — James Montgomery 

Teebb is a land, of every land the pride. 
Beloved by Heaven o'er all the world beside ; 
Where brighter suns dispense serener light. 
And milder moons emparadise the night ; — 
There is a spot of earth supremely blest, 
A dearer; sweeter spot than all the rest. 
Where map, creation's tyrant, casts aside 
His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride, 
Wliile ir< his softened looks benignly blend 
The sire, the son, the husband, brother, friend ; — 
" Where shall that land, that spot of earth, be found ' 
Art thou a man ? — a patriot ? — look around ! 
0, thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam. 
That land thy country, and that spot thy home ! 

On Greenland's rocks, o'er rude Kamschatka's plaine 
In pale Siberia's desolate domains ; 
TIVh.en the wild hunter takes his lonely way, 
Tracks through tempestuous snows his savage prey, 
Or, wrestling with the might of raging seas, 
Whore round, the Pole the eternal billows freeze. 



MORAL AN'D i)IDACTIC, — CARLYI^. 

PJucks from their jaws the stricken whale, in vain 
Plunging down headlong through the wliirling maiiij 
His wastes of snow are lovelier in his eye 
Than all the flowery vales beneath the sky , 
And dearer far than Caesar's palace-dome, 
His cavern-shelter, and his cottage-home. 

O'er Cliina's garden-fields and peopled floods, 
Id California's pathless world of woods ; 
Round Andes' heights, where Winter, from his throoa 
Lonks down in scorn upon the Summer zone ; 
By the gay borders of Bermuda's isles, 
Where Sjjring with everlasting verdure smiles ; 
On pure JMadeira's vine-robed hills of health ; 
In Java's swamps of pestilence and wealth ; 
Whei'e Babel stood, where wolves and jackals drink 
'Midst weeping willows, on Euphrates' brink ; 
On Carmel's crest ; by Jordan's I'everend stream, 
Where Canaan's glories vanished like a dream ; 
^liere Greece, a spectre, haunts her heroes' graves, 
And Rome's vast ruins darken Tiber's waves ; 
Wliere broken-hearted Switzerland bewails 
Her subject mountains and dishonored vales ; 
Where Albion's rocks exult amidst the sea, 
Aroimd the beauteous isle of Liberty ; — 
Man, through all ages of revolving time, 
Unchanging man, in every varying clime, 
Deems his own land of every land the pride. 
Beloved by Heaven o'er all the world beside; 
His home the spot of earth supremely blest, 
A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest ! 



44. NATURE A HARD CREDITOR. — TAomas Car/y.'e. 

Nature admits no lie. Most men profess to be aware of this. Out 
few in any measure lay it to heart. Except in the departments of 
mere material manipulation, it seems to be taken practically as if thie 
grand truth were merely a polite flourish of rhetoric. Nature keeps 
silently a most exact Savings-bank and official register, correct to the 
most evanescent item, Debtor and Creditor, in respect to one and all 
of us ; silently marks down, Creditor by such and such an unseen act 
of veracity and heroism ; Debtor to such a loud, blustery blunder, 
twenty-seven million strong or one unit strong, and to all acts and 
words and thoughts executed in consequence of that, — Debtor, Debtor, 
Debtor, day after day, rigorously as Fate (for this is Fate that is writ- 
ing) ; and at the end of the account you will have it all to pay, my 
friend ; — there is the rub ! Not the infinitesinialleat fraction of a far- 
ihing but will be found marked th-^re, for you and against you ; and 



74 THE STANDARL' SPEAKER. 

mth the due rate of interest you will have to pay it, neatly, canpletely 
ss sure as you are alive. You will have to pay it even in money, if 
you live : and, poor slave, do you think there is no payment but is 
money ? There is a payment which Nature rigorously exacts of men 
and also of Nations, — and this I think when her wrath is sternest,— 
in tlio shape of dooming you to possess money : — to possess it ; to havr 
your bloated vanities fostered into monstrosit y by it ; your foul pa.ssioiia 
blown into explosion by it; your heart, and, porhaps, your very stomach, 
ruined with intoxication by it ; your poor life, and all its manful activ- 
ities, stunned into frenzy and comatose sleep by it ; — in one word, as 
the old Prophets said, your soul forever lost by it : your soul, so that, 
through the Eternities, you shall have no soul, or manful trace of evei 
having had a soul ; but only, for certain fleeting moments, shall have 
had a money-bag, and have given soul and heart, and (frightfuUer stilF 
stomach itself, in fatal exchange for the same. You wretched mortal^ 
stumbling about in a God's Temple, and thinking it a brutal Cookery- 
shop ! Nature, when her scorn of a slave is divinest, and blazes like 
the blinding lightning against his slavehood, often enough flings him a 
bag of money, silently saying : " That ! Away ; thy doom is that ' * 



45. rJME'S MIDNIGHT YOICB. — ^rfujard Young. Born, 1681 ; died., 1766 

Creatio>' sleeps. 'T is as the general pulse 
Of life stooa still, and Nature made a pause, 
An awful pause ' prophetic of her end. 

The bell strikes one. We take no note of time, 
But from its loss. To give it, then, a tongue, 
Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke, 
I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright, 
It is the knell of my departed hours. 
Where are they ? With the years beyond the flooi 
It is the signal that demands despatch : 
How much is to be done ' My hopes and fears 
Start up alarmed, and o'er life's narrow verge 
Look down — on what ? a fathomless abyss ! 
A dread eternity ! How surely mine ! 
And can eternity belong to me, 
Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour ? 

How poor, how rich, how abject, how auguse. 
How 3oni plicate, how wonderful, is man ! 
How passing wonder He who made hiaa such ! 
Who centred in our make such strange estrenieg ' 
From different natures marvellously mixed, 
Connection exquisite of distant worlds ! 
Distinguished link in being's endless chain * 
Midway from nothing to the Deity ! 
' h, beam ethereal, sullied, and absorpt ' 



HORAh AND DIDACTIC. — MONTGOMERY. 75 

Though sullied, and dishonored, still divine 
Dim niiuiature of greatness absolute ! 
Au heir of glory ! a frail child of dmt ! 
Helpless immortal ! iasect infinite! 
A worm ! a god I — I treniljle at mj self, 
And in myself am lost ! At home a stranger, 
Thought wanders up and down, surprised, aghastj 
And wondering at her own : how liejison reels ! 
what a miracle to man is man, 
Triumphantly distressed ! What joy, what dread 
Alternately transported, and alarmed ! 
What can preserve my life, or what destroy ? 
An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave ; 
Legions of angels can't confine me there ! 
Even si] out night proclaims my soul immortal ! 



46. THE COMMON LOT. — Jam"'! Montgomery. 

Once, in the flight of ages past. 

There lived a man ; and Who was He ? 
Mortal ! howe'er thy lot be cast, 

That Man resembled Thee. 
Unknown the i-egion of his birth. 

The land in which he died unknown : 
His name has perished from the earth ; 

This truth survives alone : — 

That joy and grief, and hope and fear, 

Alternate triumphed in his breast; 
His bliss and woe, — a smile, a tear ! — - 

Oblivion hides the rest. 
The bounding pulse, the languid limb, 

The changing spirit's rise and fall ; 
We know that these were felt by him, 

For these are felt by all. 

He suffered, — but his pangs are o'er ; 

Enjoyed, — but his deliglits are fied ; 
Had friends, — his friends are now no mom 

And foes, — his foes are dead. 
He loved, — but whom he loved the grave 

Hath lost in its unconscious womb: 
0. she was fair ! — but naught could sa?© 

Her beauty from the tomb. 

He saw whatever thou hast seen ; 

Encountered all that troubles thee : 
He was — whatever thou heist been ; 

He is — what thou shaJ t he. 



f6 rfflE STANDARD SPEAKEB. 

The rolling seasons, day and night, 

Sun, moon and stars, the earth and maiiii 

Erewhile his portion, life and light, 
To him exist in vain. 

The clouds and sunbeams, o'er his eyt 

That once their shades and glory threw 
Have left in yonder silent sky 

No vestige where they flew 
The annals of the human race. 

Their ruins, since the world began, 
Of him afford no other trace 

Than this, — There lived a Man ' 



4T. THE TKUB SOUUCB OF ^^^OBM.. — Rev. E. H. Chaptn. 

Tiis great element of Reform is not born of human wisdom , it does 
i»rt draw its life from human organizations. I find it only in Chris- 
ffiANiTi. " Thy kingdom come!" There is a sublime and pregnant 
Burden in this Prayer. It is tlie aspiration of every soul that goes 
forth in the spirit of Reform. For what is the significance of this 
Prayer ? It is a petition that all holy influences would penetrate and 
subdue and dwell in the heart of man, until he shall think, and speak. 
and do good, from the very necessity of his being. So would the 
institutions of error and wrong crumble and pass away. So would sin 
die out from the earth ; and the human soul living in harmony with 
the Divine Will, this earth would become like Heaven. It is too late 
for the Reformers to sneer at Christianity, — it is foolishness for them 
to reject it. In it are enshrined our faith in human progress, — our 
confidence in Reform. It is indissolubly connected with all that is 
hopeful) spiritual, capable, in man. That men have misunderstood it, 
and perverted 't, is true. But it is also true that the noblest efforts 
for human melioration have come out of it, — have been based upon it. 
Is it not so ? Come, ye remembered ones, who sleep the sleep of the 
Just, — who took your conduct from the line of Christian Philosophy 
— ■ come from your tombs, and answer ! 

Come, Howard, from the gloom -of the prison and the taint of the 
lazar-house, and show us what Philanthropy can do when imbued with 
the spirit of Jesus. Come, Eliot, from the thick forest where the red 
man listens to the Word of Life ; — come, Penn, from thy sweet coun- 
sel and weaponless victory, — and show us what Christian Zeal and 
Christian Love can accomplish with the radest barbarians or the fiercest 
hearts. Come, Raikes, from thy labors with the ignorant and the 
poor, and show us with what an eye this Faith regards the lowest and 
least of our race ; and how diligently it labors, not for the body, not for 
the rank, but for the plastic soul that is to course the ages of immor- 
b.Uty. And ye, who are a great number, — ye nameless ones, — who 
^v© done good ia your narrow spheres, contei,; to fbregi renown an 



MORAL AND DIDACTIC. 



arth, and seeking your Reward in the Record on High, — come /tnd teL 
as how kindly a spirit, how lofty a purpose, or how strong a courage 
{he Religion ye professed can breathe into the poor, the humble, and 
the weak. Go forth, then. Spirit of Christianity, to thy great work 
of Reform ! The Past bears witness to thee in the blood of thy mar 
tyrs, and the ashes of thy saints and heroes ; the Present is hopera/ 
because of thee ; the Future shall acknowledge thy omnipotence. 



18. THE BEACON LIGHT. — ^/m Parrfoe. 

Darkness was deepening o'er the seas, and still the hulk drove on; 
No sail to answer to the breeze, — her masts and cordage gone ; 
Gloomy and drear her course of fear, — each looked but for a grave,- 
When,' full in sight, the beacon light came streaming o'er the wave. 

Then wildly rose the gladdening shout of all that hardy crew ; 
Boldly they put the helm about, and through the surf they flew. 
Storm was forgot, toil heeded not, and loud the cheer they gave, 
As, full in sight, the beacon light came streaming o'er the wave. 

A nd gayly of the tale they told, when they were safe on shore ; 
How hearts had sunk and hopes grown cold amid the billow's roar 
When not a star had shone from far, by its pale beam to save ; 
Then, flill in sight, the beacon light came streaming o'er the wave. 

Thus, in the night of nature's gloom, when sorrow bows the heart, - 
When cheering hopes no more illume, and prospects all depart, — 
Then, from aiiir, shines Bethleaem's star, with cheering light to savi 
And, full in sight, its beacon light comes streaming o'er the grave. 



49. " CLEON AND I." — Charles Mackay. 

Cleon hath a million acres, — ne'er a one have I , 
Cleon dwelletb in a palace, — in a cottage, I ; 
Cleon hath a dozen fortunes, — not a penny, I ; 
But the poorer of the twain is Cleon, and not I. 

Cleon, true, possesseth acres, — but the landscape, I ; 
Half the charms to me it yieldeth money cannot buy ; 
Cleon harbors sloth and dulness, — freshening vigor, I ; 
He in velvet, I in fustian, — richer man am I. 

Cleon is a slave to grandeur, — free as thought am I ; 
Cleon feea a score of doctors, — need of none have I. 
Wealth-surrounded care-environed, Cleon fears to die ; 
Death may come, — he '11 find me ready, — happier man am L 

Cleon sees no charms in Nature, — in a daisy, I ; 

Cleon hears no anthems ringing in the sea and sky 

Nature sings to me forever, — earnest listener I ; 

State for state, with all attendants, who would change ? Not I 



7^ THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

50. THE T?I{OBLEM FOR THE UNITED STATES. — iJeu. Heniij J. Boardmm. 

Tms Union cannot expire as the snow melts from the rock, or a star 
iisappears from the firmament. When it falls, the crash will be hoard 
in all lands. Wherever the winds of Heaven go, that will go, bear- 
ing sorrow and dismay to millions of stricken hearts ; for the subver« 
sion of this Government will render the cause of Constitutional Liberty 
hopeless throughout the world. 'VVhat Nation can govern itself, if thii 
Nation cannot ? What encouragement will any People have to estab* 
Hfjh liberal institutions for themselves, if ours fail ? Providence has 
laid upon us the responsibility and the honor of solving that problem 
in which all coming generations of men have a profound interest, — 
whether the true ends of Government can be secured by a popular 
representative system. In the munificence of His goodness, He put 
us in possession of our heritage, by a series of interpositions scarcely 
less signal than those which conducted the Hebrews to Canaan ; and 
He has, up to this period, withheld from us no immunities or resources 
which might facilitate an auspicious result. Never before was a Peo- 
ple so advantageously situated for working out this great problem i» 
favor of human liberty ; and it is important for us to understand that 
the world so regards it. 

If, in the frenzy of our base sectional jealousies, we dig the grave 
of the Union, and thus decide this question in the negative, no tongue 
may attem.pt to depict the disappointment and despair which will. go 
along with the announcement, as it spreads through distant lands. It 
will be America, after fifty years' experience, giving in her adhesion 
to the doctrine that man was not made for self-government. It will 
be Freedom herself proclaiming that Freedom is a chimera ; Liberty 
ringing her own knell, all over the globe. And, when the citizens or 
subjects of the Governments which are to succeed this Union shall 
visit Europe, and see, in some land now struggling to cast off its fet- 
ters, the lacerated and lifeless form of Liberty laid prostrate under 
the iron heel of Despotism, let them remember that the blow whicb 
Ics'.royed her was inflicted by their own country. 

" So the struck Eagle, stretched upon the plain, 
No more through rolling clouds to soar again. 
Viewed his own feather on the fatal dart, 
And winged the shait that qi»ivered in his heart. 
Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel 
He nursed the pinion which impelled the steel; 
While the saoie plumage that had warmed his nest 
Drank the last life-drop of his bleeding breast." 



51. THE AMERICAN EXPERIMENT OF SELF-GOVERNMENT. Edv:ard Everett 

^'e are summoned to new energy and zeal by the high nature of 
die exfieriment we are appointed in Providence to make, and the 
grandeur oi' the theatre on which it is to be performed. At a moment 
of deep and general agitation in the Old World, it pleased Heaven to 
'JDea this last reftsse of huinauity, ^;^ fsttempt V^a? V>egruu and is 



MOBAL AND DIDACTIC. LUNT. 79 

goiug on, far fi-om foroign corruption, on the broadest' scale, an J uncial 
tlie most benignant prospects ; and it certainly rests with us to solve 
the great problem in human society, — to settle, and that foi'ever, the 
momentous question, — whether mankind can be trusted with a purel) 
popular system of Government ? 

One might annost think, without extravagance, that the departed! 
wise and good, of all places and times, are looking do-^rn from their 
happy seats to witness what shall no^ Ix ione V us that they who 
lavished their treasures and their blood, of old, — who opake and wrote, 
who labored, fought and perished, in the one great cause of Freedom 
and Truth, — are now hanging, from their orbs on high, over the last 
solemn experiment of humanity. iVs I have wandered over the spots 
once the scene of their labors, and mused among the prostrate columns 
nf their senate-houses and forums, I have seemed almost to hear a 
voice fi'om the tombs of departed ages, ft'om the sepulchres of the 
Nations which died before the sight. They exhort us, they adjure us, 
to be faithful to our trust. They implore us, by the long trials of 
struggling humanity ; by the blessed memory of the departed ; by the 
dear faith which has been plighted by pure hands to the holy cause 
of truth and man ; by the awful secrets of the prison-house, where the 
sons of freedom have been immured ; by the noble heads which have 
been brought to the block ; by the wrecks of time, by the eloquent 
ruins of Nations, — they conjure us not to quench the light which ia 
rising on the world. Greece cries to us by the convulsed lips ol' her 
poisoned, dying Demosthenes ; and Rome pleads with us in the mute 
persuasion of her mangled Tully. 



52. THE SHIP OF STATE. — Rev. Wm. P. Lunt. 

Break up the Union of these States, because there are acknowledged 
evils in our system ? Is it so easy a matter, then, to make everytliing 
in the actual world conform exactly to the ideal pattern we have con- 
ceived, in our minds, of absolute right ? Suppose the fatal blow were 
struck, and the bonds which fasten together these States were severedj 
would the evils and mischiefs that would be experienced by those who 
are actually members of this vast Republican Community be all thai 
would ensue ? Certainly not. We are connected with the several 
Nations and Races of th' world as no other People has ever been con- 
nected. We have opened our doors, and invited emigration to our 
soil from all lands. Our invitation has been accepted. Thousands 
have come at our bidding. Thousands more are on the way. Other 
fcho'csan-ls still are standing a-tiptie on the shores of the Old World, 
eager to find a passage to the land where bread may be had for lalxr', 
and where man is treated as man. In our political family almost ali 
Nations are represented. The several varieties of the race are hen* 
subjected to a social fusion, out of which Providence designs to foriri 
ft " new man." 

Wa are ir this way teaching the world a great lesson, — namely 



m THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

that men of dI3erent languages, habits, manners and creeds, can !iva 
together, and vote together, and, if not pray and worship together, yet 
in near vicinity, and do all in peace, and be, for certain purposes at 
least, one People. And is not this lesson of some value to the worlds 
especially if we can teach it not by theory merely, but through a 8uc« 
cessful example ? Has not this lesson, thus conveyed, some connec« 
tion with the world's progress towards that far-off period to which tha 
huiLan mind looks for the ftilfilment of its vision of a perfect social 
state ? It may safely be asserted that this Union could not be dis- 
solved without disarranging and convulsing every part of the globe. 
K ->t in the indulgence of a vain confidence did our fathers build the 
Siiip of State, and launch it upon the waters. We will exclaim, in th« 
iKble words of one of our poets : ^ 

" Thou, too, sail on, Ship of State ! 
Sail on, Union, strong and great ! 
Humanity with all its fears, 
With all the hopes of future years, 
Is hanging breathless on thy fate ! 
We know what Master laid thy keel, 
^Vhat Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel, 
1^'ho made each mast, and sail, and rope, 
What an\-ils rang, what hammers beat, 
In what a forge and what a heat 
Were shaped the anchors of thy hope ! 
Fear not each sudden sound and shock, — 
'T is of the wave and not the rock; 
'T is but the flapping of the sail, 
And not a rent made by the gale ! 
In spite of rock and tempest roar, 
In spite of false lights on the shore, 
Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea ! 
Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee. 
Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears. 
Our faith triumphant o'er our fears, 
Are all with thee, — are all with thee ! " 



oo. ART. — Charles Sprague. 

When, from the sacred garden driven, 

Man fled before his Maker's wrath, 
An angel left her place in Heaven, 

And crossed the wanderer's sunless path. 
T was Art ! sweet Art ! New radiance broKe 

Where her lieht foot flew o'er the ground ; 
And thus with seraph voice she spoke, — 

" The curse a blessing shall be found." 

She led him through the trackless wild, 
Where noontide sunbeam never blazed ; 

The thistle shrank, the harvest smiled. 
And Nature gladdened as she g<ized. 

» H. W. LongfeUow 



MORAL AND DIDACTIC. — BATLI Sl 

Ekrth's thousand tribes of living things, 

At Art's command, to him are given , 
The viUage grows, the city springs, 

And point their spires of J'aith to Heaveu. 

He rends the oak, and bids it ride, 

To guard the shores its beauty graced ; 
He smites the rock, — upheaved in pride, 

See towers of strength and domes of taat© : 
Earth's teeming caves their wealth reveal 

Fire bears his banner on the wave, 
He bids tlie mortal poison heal, 

And leaps triumphant o'er the grave. 

He plucks the pearls that stud the deep, 

Admiring Beauty's lap to fill ; 
He breaks the stubborn marble's sleep, 

And mocks his own Creator's skill. 
TMth thoughts that fill his glowing soul, 

He bids the ore illume tht page. 
And, proudly scorning Time's control, • 

Commerces with an unborn age. 

In fields of air he writes his name, 

And treads the chambers of the sky , 
He reads the stars, and grasps the flame 

That quivers round the Throne on high 
In war renowned, in peace sublime. 

He moves in greatness and in grace ; 
His power, subduing space and time. 

Links realm to realm, and race to race. 



54. THE PILOT. — Thomas Haynes Bayly. Born, 1797 ; died, 1839 

0, Pirx)T ' 't is a fearftil night, — there 's danger on the deep ; 
I 'U come and pace the deck with thee, — I do not dare to sleep. 
Go down ! the sailor cried, go down ; this is no place for thee : 
Ftrir not ; but trust in Providence, wherever thou mayst be 

^h ! pilot, dangers often met we all are apt to slight, 

ind th(iu hast known these raging waves but to subdue theit mi^.l 

£t is not apathy, he cried, that gives this strength to me : 

l?oai Qot but trust m Providence, wherever thou mayst be. 

On such a night the sea engulfed my father's lifeless form , 
My only brother's boat went down in just so wild a storm • 
And such, perhaps, may be my fate ; but still I say to the©, 
Fear not l<ut trust in Providence, wherever thou mays^ be. 
6 



82 THE STANDARD SPEAKEB. 

55. rtEA.TH TYPIFIED BY wmTER. — James Thomson. Born, 1700; died, 1T4S 

'T IS done ! — dread Winter spreads his latest gloorm 
And reicjTis tremendous o'er the conquered year. 
How d .d the vegetable kingdom l\e.=> 1 
How di. b the tuneful ! Horror -wi Jo extends 
His desolate domain. Behold, fond man ! 
See here thy pictured life : — pass some few years, 
Thy flowering Spring, thy Summer's ardent strength 
Thy sober Autumn fading into age, 
And pale concluding Winter comes, at last, 
And shuts the scene. Ah ! whither now are fled 
Those dreams of greatness ? those unsolid hopes 
Of happiness ? those longings after fame ? 
Those restless cares ? those busy bustling days ? 
Those gay -spent, festive nights ? those veering thoughti 
Lost between good and ill, that shared thy life ? 
All now are vanished ! Virtue sole survives. 
Immortal, never-failing friend of man. 
His guide to happiness on high. And see ! 
'T is come, the. glorious morn ! the second birth 
Of Heaven and Earth ! Awakening Nature heaw 
The new-creating word, and starts to life, 
In every heightened form, from pain and death 
Forever free. The great eternal scheme 
Involving all, and in a perfect whole 
Uniting, as the prospect wider spreads, 
To Pteason's eye refined clears up apace. 
Ye vainly in-ise ! ye blind presumptuous ! now, 
Confounded in the dust, adore that Power 
And WisDO-Ai oft arraigned : see now the cause, 
Why unassuming Worth in secret lived, 
And died neglected : why the good man's share 
In life was gall and bitterness of soul : 
Why the lone widow and her orphans pined, 
In starving solitude ; while Luxury, 
In palaces, lay straining her low thought. 
To form unreal wants : why Heaven-born Truth. 
And Moderation fair, wore the red marks 
Of Superstition's scourge : why licensed Pain 
That cruel spoiler, that embosomed foe, 
Embittered all our bliss. Ye good distressed, 
Ye noble few ! who here unbending stand 
Beneath life's pressure, yet bear up a while, 
And vrhat your bounded view, which only saw 
A lictle part, deemed Evil, is no more ! 
The storms of Wintry Time will quickly paa& 
And one unbounded Spring encircle aU • 



I 



MORAL AND DIDACTIC. — JAMiS. 8S 



56 I>-Dl CEMliNTS TO EARNESTNESS IN RELIGION -Jo/tn AngellJamtt 

Inducements ! Can it be .necessary to offer these ? What ! Is 
not the bare mention of religion enough to rouse every soul, wlio 
understands the meaning of that momentous word, to the greatest 
intensity of action? Who needs to have spread out before him ihn 
demonstrations of logic, or the persuasions of rhetoric, to move l^itu to 
Beek after wetdth, rank, or honor ? Who, wlien an opportunity prQ» 
gents itself to obtain such possessions, requires anything more than an 
appeal to his consciousness of their value to engage him in the pursuit ? 
The very mention of riches suggests at once to man's cupidity a th(m- 
sand arguments to use the means of obtaining them. ^Vhat intense long- 
ings rise in the heart ! What pictures crowd the imagination ! What 
a spell comes over the whole soul ! And why is there less, — yea, 
why is there not intensely more, than all this, at the mention of the 
word religion, — that term which comprehends Heaven and earth, 
time and eternity, God and man, within its sublime and boundless 
meaning ? If we were as we ought to be, it would be enough only to 
whisper in the ear that word, of more than magic power, to engage 
all our faculties, and all their energies, in the most resolute purpose, 
the most determined pursuit, and the most entire self-devotcment. 
Inducements to earnestness in religion ! Alas ! how low we have 
sunk, how far have we been paralyzed, to need to be thus stimu- 
lated ! 

Is religion a conti*adiction to the usual maxim, that a man's activity 
in endeavoring to obtain an object is, if he understand it, in exact pro- 
portion to the value and importance which he attaches to it ? Are 
Heaven, and salvation, and eternity, the only matters that shall reverse 
this maxim, and make lukewarmness the rale of action ? By what 
thunder shall I break in upon your deep and dangerous sleep ? 0, 
revolve often and deeply the infinite realities of religion ! Most sub- 
jects may be made to appear with greater or less dignity, according to 
the greater or less degree of importance in which the preacher places 
them. Pompous expressions, bold figures, lively ornaments of elo- 
quence, may often supply a want of this dignity in the subject dis- 
cussed. But every attempt to give importance to a motive taken from 
eternity is more likely to enfeeble the doctrine than to invigorate it. 
Motives of this kind are self-sufficient. Descriptions the most simple 
and the most natural are always the most pathetic or the most terrify- 
ing ; nor can I find an expression more powerftil and emphatic than 
(hat (if Paul, "The things which are not seen are Bternal." What 
wore could the tongues of men and the eloquence of angels say ? 
' Etei nal things " ! Weigh the import of that phrase, " eternal 
things." The history of Nations, the eras of time, the creation of 
worlds, all fade into insignificance, — dwindle to a point, attenuate to 
a shadow, — compared with these " eternal things." Do you believe 
them ? If not, aljjure your creed, abandon your belief. Be consistent, 
and let tl-ie stupendous vision which, like Jacob's ladder, rests Hs fool 



M THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

OB earth Jind places its top iu Heaven, vanish in thin air ! But if joa 
do believe, say what ought to be the conduct of him who, to his own 
conviction, stands with hell beneath him, Heaven above him, and eter' 
nity before him. By all the worth of the immoi-tal soul, by aU 
the blessings of eternal salvation, by all the glories of the uppei 
world, by all the horrors of the bottomless pit, by all the agea 
ef eternity and by all the personal interest you have in these infinite 
r^lities, I corjure you to be in earnest in personal religion ! 



57. NEVER DESPAIR. — Samuel Lover. 

0, NEVER despair ! for our hopes, oftentime. 
Spring swiftly, as flowers in some tropical clime, 
Where the spot that was barren and scentless at night 
Is blooming and fragrant at morning's first light ! 
The mariner marks, when the tempest rings loud, 
That the rainbow is brighter, the darker the cloud ; 
Then, up ! up ! — never despair ! 

The leaves which the sibyl presented of old. 
Though lessened in number, were not worth less gold ; 
And though Fate steal our joys, do not tliink they 're the besV. -=» 
The few she has spared may be worth all the rest. 
Good fortune oft comes in adversity's form, 
And the rainbow is brightest when darkest the storm ; 
Then, up ! up ! — never despair ! 

And when aU creation was sunk in the flood. 
Sublime o'er the deluge the patriarch stood ! 
Though destruction around him in thunder was hurled, 
Undaunted he looked on the wreck of the world ! 
For, high o'er the ruin, hung Hope's blessed form. — 
The rainbow beamed bright through the gloom of the storm 
Then, up ! up ! — never despaii- ! 



1 



58. CKARVSY.— Thomas Noon Talfourd. 

The blessings which the weak and poor can 
Have their own season. 'T is a little thing 
To give a cup of water ; yet its draught 
Of cool refreshment, drained by fevered lips, 
May give a shock of pleasure to the frame 
More exqviisite than when neetarean juice 
Renews the life of joy in happiest hours. 
It is a little thing to speak a phrase 
Of common comfort, which, by daily use, 
Has almost lost its sense ; yet on the ear 
Of him who thought to die unmourned, 't will &U 



HOKAL AND DlfiAOnC. 



Like choicest music ; fill the glazing eye 
With gentle tears ; relax the knotted hand 
To know the bonds ol' fellowship again ; 
And shed on the departing soul a sense 
More precious than the beuison of friends 
About the honored death-bud of the rich, 
To him who else were lonely, — that anothei 
Of the great family is near, and feels. 



69. THE BATTLE-FIELD. — fVilliam CuUen Bryant 

Once this soft turf, this rivulet's sands, 
Were trampled by a huriying crowd, 

And fiery hearts and armed hands 
Encountered in the battle-cloud. 

Ah ! never shall the land forget 

How gushed the life-blood of her hrave. 
Gushed, warm with hope and valor yet, 
Upon the soil they fought to sate. 

Now all is calm, and fresh, and still ; 

Alone the chirp of flitting bird, 
And talk of children on the hill, 

And bell of wandering kine, are heard. 

No solemn host goes trailing by 

The black-mouthed gun and staggering Wi 
Men start not at the battle-cry ; — 

0, be it never heard again ! 

Soon rested those who fought, — but thou, 
Who minglest in the harder striffe 

For truths which men receive not now, — 
Thy warfare only ends with life. 

A friendless warfare! lingering long 
Through weary day and weary year ; 

A wild and many-weaponed throng 

Hang on thy fi-ont, and flank, and rear. 

Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof. 
And blench not at thy chosen lot. 

The timid good may stand aloof, 

The sage may frown, — yet faint thou DO 

Nor heed the shaft too surely cast, 
The hissing, stinguig bolt of scorn , 



86 THE STANDARD SPEAREIU 

For witli thy side shall dwell, at hslf. 
The victory of endurance born. 

Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again. 

The eternal years of God are here ; 
But Error, wounded, writhes with pain, 

And dies among his worshippers. 

Y"ea, though thou die upon the dust. 
When those who helped thee flee in fear 

Die full of hope and manly trust, 
Like those who fell in battle here, — 

Another hand thy sword shall wield, 
Another hand the standard wave. 

Till fi'om the trumpet's mouth is pealed 
The blast of triumph o'er thy grave ! 



60. THE DIZZY ACTlTITIES OF THE TIMES. —£dward Everett. 

We need the spirit of '75 to guide us safely amid the diwy tuitvr 
tlies of the times. While our own numbers are increasing in an 
unexampled ratio, Europe is pouring in upon us her hundreds of 
thousands annually, and new regions are added to our domain, which 
we are obliged to count by degrees of latitude and longitude. In the 
mean time, the most wonderful discoveries of art, and the most myste- 
rious powers of nature, combine to give an almost fearful increase to 
the intensity of our existence. Machines of unexampled complica- 
tion and ingenuity have been applied to the whole range of human 
industry : we rush across the land and the sea by steam ; we cor- 
respond by magnetism ; we paint by the solar ray ; we count the 
beats of the electric clock at the distance of a thousand miles; we 
annihilate time and distance ; and, amidst all the new agencies of 
communication and action, the omnipotent Press — the gi'eat engine 
of modern progi-ess, not superseded or impaired, but gathering new 
power from all the arts — is daily clothing itself with louder thunders. 
While we contemplate with admiration — almost with awe — the 
mighty influences which surround us, and which demand our coopera- 
tion and our guidance, let our hearts overflow with gratitude to tht 
|®,triots who have handed down to ub this gi-eat inheritance. Let us 
strive to furnish ourselves, from the storehouse of their esanifle, with 
ihe principles and vii-tues which will strengthen us for the perform- 
ance of an honored part on this illustrious stage. Let pure patriot- 
ism add its bond to the bars of iron which are binding the continent 
together; and, as intelligence shoots with the electris spark froni 
ocean to ocean, let public spirit and love of country catch from heail 
to heart 



MORAI AND BIDACTIC. SYDNEY SMITH. W 

THE GOOD GREAT MAN.— S. T. Coleridge. Born, 1110 ; died. i33i 

" How seldom, friend, a good great man inherits 

Honor and' wealth, with all his worth and pains ! 
It seems a story from the world of spirits 
When any man obtains that which he merita, 

Or any merits that which he obtains." 
For shame, my friend ! — renounce this idle strain ! 
What wouklst thou have a good great man obtiiin ? 
Wealth, title, dignity, a golden chain, 
Or heap of corses which his sword hath slain ? 
Goodness and greatness are not means, but ends. 
Hath he not always treasures, always friends, 
The good great man ? Three treasures, — love, ana light 

And calm thoughts, equable as infant's breath ; 
And three fast friends, more sure than day or nighfc, — 

Himself, his Maker, and the Angel Death. 



62. TAXES THE PRICE OE GLORY. — flet). Sydney Smith. Born, 1768 ; died, ISii. 

John Bull can inform Jonathan what are the inevitable conso' 
ijaences of being too fond of Glory ; — Taxes ! Taxes upon every 
article which enters into the mouth, or covers the back, or is placed 
under the foot ; tases upon everything which it is pleasant to see, 
hear, feel, smell, or taste ; taxes upon warmth, light, and locomotion ; 
taxes on everything on earth, and the waters under the earth ; on 
everything that comes from abroad, or is grown at home ; taxes on 
the raw material ; taxes on every fresh value that is added to it by 
the industry of man ; taxes on the sauce which pampers man's appe- 
tite, and the drug that restores him to health ; on the ermine which 
decorates the Judge, and the rope which hangs the criminal ; on the 
poor man's salt, and the rich man's spice ; on the brass nails of the 
coffin, and the ribbons of the bride ; — at bed or board, couchant or 
levant, we must pay. 

The school-boy whips his taxed top ; the beardless youth manages 
his taxed horse, with a taxed bridle, on a taxed road ; — and the dying 
Englishman, pouring his medicine, which has paid seven per cent, into 
a spoon that has paid fifteen per cent., flings himself back upon his 
ohintz-bed, which has paid twenty- two per cent., makes his will on 
An eight-pound stamp, and expires in the arms of an apothecary, who 
has paid a license of a hundred pounds for tke privilege of putting 
him to death. His whole property is then immediately taxed from 
two to ten per cent. Besides the probate, large fees are demanded for 
burying him in the chancel ; his virtues are handed down to posterity 
on taxed marble ; and he is then gathered to his fathers, — to be taxed 
DO more. 

In addition to all this, the habit of dealing with large sums wiU 
make the Government avaricious and profuse ; and the system itself 



mj 



Bo THE STANDARD SPEAKLH. 

vrill infallibly generate the base vermin of spies and iijforkiers, and i 
Btili more pestilent race of political tools and retainers of the meanest 
and most odious description ; — while the prodigious patronage which 
the collecting of this splendid revenue will throw into the hands of 
Goverimaent will invest it with so vast an influence, and hold ou* 
such means and temptations to corruption, as all the virtue and publk 
spirit, even of Republicans, will be unable to resist. Every Mitse Job 
sthan should remember this ! 



THE PB,^S8.— Adaptation from Ebenezer Elliot. Born, I'JSa; died, IS® 

God said — " Let there be light ! " 
Grim darkness felt His might. 
And fled away : 
Then startled soas and mountains cold 
Saone forth, all bright in blue and gold, 
And cried — " 'T is day ! 't is day ! " 

" Hail, holy light ! " exclaimed 
The thunderous cloud that flamed 
O'er daisies white ; 
And lo ! the rose, in crimson dressed, 
Leaned sweetly on the lily's breast, 

And, blushing, murmured — " Light ^ 

Then was the skylark born ; 
Then rose the embattled corn ; 
Then floods of praise 
Flowed o'er the sunny hills of noon : 
And then, in stillest night, the moon 
Poured forth her pensive rays. 

Lo, Heaven's bright bow is glswi 
Lo, trees and flowers, all clad 
In glory, bloom ! 
And shall the immortal sons of God 
Be senseless as the trodden clod. 
And darker than the tomb ? 

No, by the mind of man ! 
By the swart artisaa ! 
"We will aspire ! 
Our souls have holy light withia, 
And every form of grief and sia 
Shall see and feel its fire. 

Bj all we hope of Heaven, 
The shroud of souls is rivea ' 
Mind, mind alone 



MORAL AND DIDACTIC. CHANNING. 

Is light, and hope, and life, and power ! 
Earth's deepest night, from this blessed hour, — 
The night of mind, — is gone ! 

" The Press ! " all lands shall sing ; 
The Press, the Press we bring, 
All lands to bless. 
0, pallid Want ! 0, Labor stark ! 
Behold ! we bring the second ark ! 
The Press, the Press, the Press ! 



64. A DEFENCE OF VOW^Y. — Rev. Charles Wolfe. Born, 1791; died, 1823. 

Believe not those who tell you that Poetry will seduce the youth- 
ful mind from severe occupations. Didactic Poetry not only admits, 
but requires, the cooperation of Philosophy and Science. And true 
Poetry must be always reverent. Would not an universal cloud settle 
upon all the beauties of Creation, if it were supposed that they had 
not emanated from Almighty energy ? In works of art, we are not 
content with the accuracy of feature, and the glow of coloring, until 
we have traced them to the mind that guided the chisel, and gave the 
pencil its delicacies and its animation. Nor can we look with delight 
on the features of Nature, without hailing the celestial Intelligence 
that gave them birth. The Deity is too sublime for Poetry to doubt 
His existence. Creation has too much of the Divinity insinuated into 
her beauties to allow Poetry to hesitate in her creed. She demands 
no proof. She waits for no demonstration. She looks, and she 
believes. She admires, and she adores. Nor is it alone with natural 
religion that she maintains this intimate connection ; for what is the 
Christian's hope, but Poetry in her purest and most ethereal essence 1 

Prom the beginning she was one of the ministering spirits that 
stand round the Throne of God, to issue forth at His word, and do 
His errands upon the earth. Sometimes she has been the herald of 
an offending nation's downfall. Often has she been sent commissioned 
to offending man, with prophecy and warning upon her lips. At 
other times she has been intrusted with " glad tidings of great joy." 
Poetry was the anticipating Apostle, the prophetic Evangelist, whose 
feet " were beautiful upon the mountains ; " who published salvatioa 
whD said unto Zion, " Thy God reigneth ! " 



65. GREAT IDEAS. — /Jeu. W. E. Channlng. 

What is needed to elevate the soul is, not that a man should know 
all that has been thought and written in regard to the spiritual nature, 
not that a man should tecome an Encyclopedia, but that the Great 
Ideas in which all dis^ioveries terminate, which sum up all sciences 
which the philosopher extracts from infinite details, may be compre- 
Jiended and felt It is not the quantity, but the quality of knowl 
edge, which determ-'^es the mind's dignity. A man of immeosB 



hO THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

infonuf.tion may, through Ce -want of large and compreho. nha ideaa 
be far inferior in intellect to a laborer, who, with little knowledge, has 
yet seized on great truths. For example, I do not expect the laborei 
to study theology in the ancient la:)guages, in the writings of the 
Fathers, in the history of sects ; nor is this needful. All theology 
scattered as it is through countless volumes, is summed up in the idea 
of God ; and let this idea shine bright and clear in the laborer's soul 
and he has the essence of theological libraries, and a far higher lighi 
than has visited thousands of renowned divines. A great mind w 
formed by a few great ideas, not by an infinity of looL-e details. 

I have kno^pn very learned men who seemed to rue very poor in 
mtellect, because they had no grand thoughts. What avails it that a 
man has studied ever so minutely the histories of Greece and Rome, 
if the Great Ideas of Freedom, and Beauty, and Valor, and Spiritual 
Energy, have not been kindled, by those records, into living fires in 
his soul ? The illumination of an age does not consist in the amount 
of its knowledge, but in the broad and noble principles of which that 
knowledge is the foundation and inspirer. The truth is, that the most 
laborious and successful student is confined in his researches to a very 
few of God's works ; but this limited knowledge of things may still 
suggest universal laws, broad principles, grand ideas ; and these ele- 
vate the mind. There are certain thoughts, principles, ideas, which 
by their nature rule o^or all knowledge, which are intrinsically glori- 
ous quickening, all-cuii.prehending, eternal ! 



66. ENGLAND. — Et.eneser£ffio«. 

Nttrse of the Pilgrim Sires, who sought, beyond the Atlantic foanij 
For fearless truth and honest thought, a refuge and a home ! 
Who woidd not be of them or thee a not unworthy son. 
That hears, amid the chained or free, the name of Washington ^ 

Cradle of Shakspeare, Milton, Knox ! King-shaming CromweU's 

throne I 
Home of the Rassells, Watts, and Lockes Earth's greatest are thina 

own ! 
And shall thy children forge base chains for men that would be free ? 
No ! by the Eliots, Hampdens, Vanes Pjths, Sidneys, yet to be ! 

N"o ! For the blood which kings have gorged hath made their victims 

wise; 
^Vliile every lie that Fraud hath forged veils wisdom from his eyes, 
Dut time shall change the despot's mood ; and IMind is mightiest then, 
When turning evil into good, and monsters into men. 

If round the sotd the chains are bound that, hold the world in thrall, ■— 
If tyrants laugh when men are found in brutal fray to fall, — 
Lord! let not Britain arm her hands, her sister states to ban; 
But bless through her all other lands — Thy family of Ma.u ' 



MORAL AND DIDACTIC. CAMPBELL. 9\ 

Poi freedom if thy Hampden fought, for peace if Falkland fell, — 
For peace and love if ]3enthani wrote, and Burns sang wildly well, - 
Let Knowledge, strongest of the strong, bid hate and discord cease 
Be this the burden of her song, — " Love, Liberty, and Peace ! " 

Then, Father, will th-s Nations all, as witli the sound of seas, 

In universid festival, sing words of joy, like these : — 

[<ct each love all, and all be free, receiving as they give ; 

Lord ' Jesus died for Love and Thee ! So let Thy children live ! 



yilAT'S HALLOWED GKOVT^D f— Thomas Campbell. Born, 1777 ; dici, 1»44. 

U'liAT 's hallowed ground ? Has earth a clod 
Its Maker meant not should be trod 
By man, the image of his God, 

Erect and free, 
Unscourged by Superstition's rod 

To bow the knee ? 

What hallows ground where heroes sleep ? 
'T is not the sculptured piles you heap : 
In dews that Heavens far distant weep, 

Their turf may bloom ; 
Or Genii twine beneath the deep 

Their coral tomb. 

But strew his ashes to the wind. 

Whose sword or voice has saved mankind, — ■ 

And is /le dead, whose glorious mind 

Lifts thine on high ? 
To live in hearts we leave behind, 

Is not to die ! 
Is 't death to fall for Freedom's right? — 
He 's dead alone that lacks her light ! 
And murder sullies, in Heaven's sight, 

The sword he draws : — 
What can alone ennoble fight ? — 

A noble cause ! 

Give that ; and welcome War to brace 

Her dmms ! and rend Heaven's welkin space 

The colors planted face to face, 

The charging cheer, 
Though Death's pale horse lead on the chase. 

Shall still be dear ! 

And place our trophies where men kneei 
To Heaven ! — But Heaven rebukes my zesl 
The cause of truth and hu05aa weal, — 
God above ' — 



&2 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

rransfer it from the sword's appeal 
To peace and love ! 

Peace, love, — the cherubim that jom 
Wieir spread wings o'er devotion's shrine, — 
Prayers sound in vain, and temples shinei 

When they are not ; 
The heart alone can make divine 

Religion's spot ' 

What 's hallowed ground ? 'T is what gives birth 
To sacred thoughts in souls of worth ! 
Peace ! Independence ! Truth ! go forth 

Earth's compass round ; 
And your high priesthood shall make earth 

All hallowed ground ! 



68. NATURE PROCLAIMS A BETSY.— Chateaubriand. iBom, 1769; dieJ, 1848 

There is a God ! The herbs of the valley, the cedars of the 
mountain, bless Him ; the insect sports in His beam ; the bird sings 
Him in the foliage ; the thunder proclaims Him in the Heavens , 
the ocean declares His immensity ; — man alone has said, there is 
no God ! Unite in thought at the same instant the most beauti- 
ful objects in nature. Suppose that you see, at once, all the hours 
of the day, and all the seasons of the year : a morning of spring, 
and a morning of autumn ; a night bespangled with stars, and a 
night darkened by clouds ; meadows enamelled with flowers ; forests 
hoary with snow ; fields gilded by the tints of autumn, — then alone 
you will have a just conception of the universe ! While you are 
gazing on that sun which is plunging into the vault of the West, 
another observer admires him emerging from the gilded gates of 
the East. By what inconceivable power does that aged star, which is 
sinking fatigued and burning in the shades of the evening, reappear 
at the same instant fresh and humid with the rosy dew of the morn- 
jQg ? At every hour of the day, the glorious orb is at once rising, 
^'esplf^ndent as noon-day, and setting in the west ; or, rather, our senso=s 
deceive us, and there is, properly speaking, no East or West, no North 
^r South in the world. 



69. WHAT WE OWE TO THE SWORD.— T. S. Grimki. Born., 1778; died, 1834. 

To the question, " what have the People ever gained but by Revo- 
lution." I answer, boldly. If by Revolution be understood the law of 
the Sword, Liberty has lost far more than she has ever gained by it. 
llie Sword was the destroyer of the Lycian Confederacy and the 
Aehajan league. The Sword alternately enslaved and diisenthralletj 
Fb jbes and Athens; Sparta, Syracuse and Corinth. The Sword of 
Rome !5onquered every other fre*^ State, and finished tho murder 0/ 



MORAL ANI DIDACTIC. — ffb'NJ! 9S 

fiberty in the ancient world, by destroying b'^rsclf. "WLiit but tbp 
Swojii, in iriodern times, annihilated the Republics of Italy, the Hanse. 
atic towns, and the primitive independence of Ireland, Wales and 
Scotland ? What but the Sword partitioned Poland, assiassinated the 
rising liberty of Spain, banished the Huguenots from France, and 
made Cromwell the master, not the servant, of the People ? And what 
but the Sword of Republican France destroyed the Independence oi 
half of Europe, deluged the continent with tears, devoured its millions 
upon millions, and closed the long catalogue of guilt, by founding and 
defending to the last the most powerful, selfish, and insatiable of mil- 
itary despotisms ? 

The Swo)-d, indeed, delivered Greece from the Persian invaders, 
expelled the Tarquins fi-om Rome, emancipated Switzerland and Hol- 
land, restored the Bruce to his Throne, and brought Charles to the 
scaffold. And the Sword redeemed the pledge of the Congress of 
'76, when they plighted to each other " their lives, their fortunes, 
and their sacred honor." And yet, what would the redemption of 
that pledge have availed towards the establishment of our present 
Government, if the spirit of American institutions had not been both 
the birthright and the birth-blessing of the Colonies ? The Indians, 
the French, the Spaniards, and even England herself, warred in vain 
against a People, born and bred in the household, at the douestic 
altar, of Lil^erty herself. They had never been slaves, for they were 
born free. The Sword was a herald to proclaim their freedom, but it 
neither created nor preserved it. A century and a half had already 
beheld them free in infancy, free in youth, free in early manhood. 
Tlieirs was already the spirit of American institutions ; the spirit of 
Christian freedom, of a temperate, regulated freedom, of a rational 
civil obedience. For such a People, the Sword, the law of violence, 
did and could do nothing, but sever the bonds which bound her colo- 
nial wards to their unnatural guardian. They redeemed their pledge. 
Sword in hand ; but the Sword left them as it found them, un- 
changed in character, — fi-eemen in thought and in deed, iastinct mih 
the knmortal spirit of American institutions ! 



ABOt BEN ADUEM. — Lei^h Hunt 

Aboxj Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase !) 
A. woke one night from a deep dream of peace, 
A nd saw within the moonlight of his room, 
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom, 
An angel writing in a book of gold. 
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, 
And, to the presence in the room, he said, 
" What writest thou ? " The vision raised its head, 
And, with a look made of all sweet accord, 
A^nswered, The names of those who love the Lord ! 



94 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

'' And is mine one ? " asked Abou. — •' Nay, not so,'' 

Replied the angel. Abou spake more low, 

"But cheerly still ; and said — "I pray thee, then, 

Write me as one that loves his fellow-men." 

The angel wrote and vanished. The next night 

It came again, with a great wakening light, 

And showed the names whom love of God had blest ' 

And lo ! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest ! 



■?! POLONIUS TO LAERTES. - William. Shakspeare. Born, 1564 -, ditd 1816. 

My blessing with you ! 
And these few precepts in thy memory 
Look thou charac'ter. Give thy thoughts no ton^me 
Nor any unproportioned thought his act. 
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar : 
The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, 
Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel ; 
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment 
Of each new-hatched, unfledged comrade. Beware 
Of entrance to a quarrel ; but, being in, 
Bear it that the opposer may beware of thee. 
Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice ; 
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment 
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy. 
But not expressed in fancy ; rich, not 
For the apparel oft proclaims the man ; 
And they in France, of the best rank and station. 
Are most select and generous chief in that. 
Neither a borrower nor a lender be ; 
For loan oft loses both itself and friend. 
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. 
This above all, — to thine own self be truf^, 
A.nd it must follow, as the night the day. 
Thou canst not then be false to any man. 



72 WHERE IS HE ? — Henry Neele. Born, 1798 ; died. 182*. 
" Man giveth up the ghost, and where is he .' " 

' And where is he ? " Not by the side 

Of her whose wants he loved to tend ; 
Not o'er those valleys wandering wide, 

Whore, sweetly lost, he oft would wend. 
Thjtt form beloved he marks no more ; 

Those scenes admired no more shall see , 
'^ose scenes are lovely as before, — 

And she as f'dr, — but where is he ' 



MORAL ANI DI.DACTIC WAYLAUD. 

No, no ! the radiance is not dim, 

That used to gild his favorite Mil • 
The pleasures that wore dear to him 

Are dear to life and nature still 
But, ah ! his home is not as fair 

Neglected must his garden be 
The lilies droop and wither there 

And seem to whisper, Where is he ? 

'His was the pomp, the crowded hall 

But where is now his proud display ? 
His riches, honors, pleasures, — all, 

Desire could frame ; but where are they 
And he, as some tall rock that stands, 

Protected by the circling sea, 
Sarrounded by admiring bands. 

Seemed proudly strong, — and where is h«> 

The church-yard bears an added stone ; 

The fire-side shows a vacant chair ; 
Here Sadness dwells, and weeps alone ; 

And Death displays his banner there ! 
The life has gone ; the breath has fled : 

And what has been no more shall be ; 
The Aveli-known form, the welcome tread, — 

! where are they ? Aud where is he ? 



73. GROWTH OF INTERNATIONAL SYMPATHIES. — President IVaylana. 

In many respects, the Nations of Christendom collectively are 
becoming somewhat analogous to our own Federal Rep^tblic. Anti- 
quated distinctions are breaking away, and local animosities are sub 
siding. The common people of different countries are knowing each 
other better, esteeming each other more, and attaching themselves to 
each other by various manifes'ations of reciprocal good will. It ij 
true, every nation has still it? separate boundaries and its individual 
interests ; but the fi'etdom of commercial intercourse is allowing those 
interests to adjutjt themselves to each other, and thus rendering the 
causes of ccUision of vastly less frequent occurrence. Local questions 
are becoming of less, and general questions of greater impuriancc 
I'hanks be to God, men have at last begun to understand the right*! 
ind feel for the wrongs of each other ! Mountains interposed do not 
go nmch make enemies of nations. Let the trumpet of alarm be 
sounded, and its notes are now heard by every nation, whether of 
Fiurope or America. Let a voice borne on the feeblest breeze tell 
tha.t the rights of man are in danger, and it floats over valley and 
aiounuin, across continent and ocean, until it has vibrated on the ear 
of the remotest a'weller in Christendom. Let the arm o^ <^'ppressio» 



96 THE STANDARD SPEAKEU. 

oe raised to crush the feeblest nation on earth, and there will be h^rd 
everywhere, if not the shout of defiance, at least the deep-toned mur 
uiur of implacable displeasure. It is the cry of aggrieved, insulted, 
much-abused man. It is human nature waking in her might from tha 
slumloer of ages, shaking herself from the dust of antiquated inbtitu< 
tions, girding herself for the combat, and going forth conquering and 
to conquer ; and woe unto the man, woe unto the dynasty, woe unt< 
the party, and woe unto the policy, on whom shall fall the scathe oi 
hor blighting indignation ! 



M THE WORTH OF ¥AMIi.— Joanna Baillie. Born, 1765 ; died, 1960 

! WHO shall lightly say that Fame 
Is nothing but an empty name, 
^^Tiilst in that sound there is a charm 
The nerves to brace, the heart to warm, 
As, thinking of the mighty dead. 

The young from slothful couch will start, 
And vow, with lifted hands outspread, 

Like them to act a noble part ! 

! who shall lightly say that Fame 

Is nothing but an empty name, 

When, but for those, — our mighty dead, — 

All ages past, a blank would be, 
Sunk in oblivion's murky bed, — 

A desert bare, a shipless sea ? 
They are the distant objects seen, — 
The lofty marks of what hath been. 

! who shall lightly say that Fame 
Is nothing but an empty name. 
When memory of the mighty dead 

To earth-worn pilgrim's wistfal eye 
The brightest rays of cheering shed. 

That point to immortality ? 

A twinkling speck, but fixed and bright, 

To guide us through the dreary night, 

Each hero shines, and lures the soul 

To gain the distant, happy goal. 
For is there one who, musing o'er the gi-ave 
Where lies interred the good, the wise, the brave, 
Can poorly think, beneath the mouldering heap 
That noble being shall forever sleep ? 
No , saith the generous heart, and proudly swells, — 
"Though his cered corse lies here, with Grod his spirit dweda.' 



MORAL AND DIDJCTIC. HEBElx 

75. THE PTmSUIT OF FRIVOLOUS PLEASURES. — Toung 

O, THE dcirk days of vanity ! while here 
Uow tasteless, and how terrible when gone ! 
Gone ! they ne'er go ; when past, they haunt us etili , 
The spirit walks of every day deceiised, 
And smiles an angel, or a fury frowns. 
Nor death nor life delights us. If time past 
And time possest both pain us, what can please ''• 
That which the Deity to please ordained, 
Time used ! The man who consecrates his hours 
By vigorous effort and an honest aim. 
At once he draws the sting of life and death ; 
He walks with Natui-e, and her paths are peace. 

Ye well arrayed ! ye lilies of our land ! 
Ye lilies male ! who neither toil nor spin 
(As sister lilies might), if not so wise 
As Solomon, more sumptuous to the sight ' 
Ye delicate ! who nothing can support, 
Yourselves most insupportable ! for whom 
The winter rose must blow, the Sun put on 
A brighter beam in Leo ; silky-soft 
Favonius breathe still softer, or be chid ; 
And other worlds send odors, sauce, and song, 
And robes, and notions, framed in foreign loomSj"" 
ye Lorenzos of our age ! who deem 
One moment unamused a misery 
Not made for feeble man ; who call aloud 
For every bauble drivelled o'er by sense 
For rattles and conceits of every cast , 
For change of follies and relays of joy. 
To drag your patient through the tedious 
Of a short winter's day, — say. Sages, say ! 
Wit's oracles ! say, dreamers of gay dreams ! 
How will ye weather an eternal night, 
Where such expedients fail - 



76. FORQrV'E. - mshop Heber. Born, 1783 ; died, 1826. 

G >D ! my sins are manifold ; against my life they cry, 

hf\A all my guilty deeds foregone up to Thy temple fly. 

Wilt thju release my trembling soul, that to despair is driven? 

' Forgive! " a blessed voice replied, "and thou shalt be forgiven. " 

My foemen. Lord, are fierce and fell ; they spurn me in theii- pride 
They render evil for my good ; my patience they deride ■ 
Arise ! my King I and be the proud in righteous ruin driven ! — 
" Forgive ! " the awful answer came, " as thou wouldst be forgiven ' 

7 



SS THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

Be VCD times, liOrd. I 've pardoned tliem ; seven times they 've 8Uin»3 

again ; 
riiey practise still to work me woe, and triumph in my pain ; 
riut let them dread my vengeance now, to i'jst resentment driven ' 
"^ Forgive ! " the voice in thunder spake, '' or never be forgiven ! '' 



77. TRUE SCIENCE OUGHT TO BE UELIGIOVS. — President Hitchcoek 

I AM far Urom maintaining that science is a sufficient guide ia 
religion. On the other hand, if left to itself, as I fully admit, 

"It leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind." 

Nor do I maintain that scientific truth, even when properly appre- 
ciated, will compare at all, in its influence upon the human mind, with 
those peculiar and higher truths disclosed by Revelation. AH I con- 
tend for is, that scientific truth, illustrating as it does the divine char- 
acter, plans and government, ought to fim and feed the flame of true 
piety in the hearts of its cultivators. He, therefore, who knows the 
most of science, ought most powerfully to feel this religious influence. 
He is not confined, like the great mass of men, to the outer court of 
Nature's magnificent temple ; but he is admitted to the interior, and 
allowed to trace its long halls, aisles and gallei-ies, and gaze upon its 
lofty domes and arches ; nay, as a priest he enters the penetralia, the 
holy of holies, where sacred fire is always burning upon the altars ; 
where hovers the glorious Schekinah ; and where, from a full orches- 
tra, the anthem of praise is ever ascending. Petrified, indeed, must 
he his heart, if it catches none of the inspiration of such a spot. He 
ought to go forth from it, among his fellow-men, with radiant glory 
on his face, like Moses from the holy mount. He who sees most of 
Grod in His works ought to show the stamp of Divinity upon his 
character, and lead an eminently holy life. 

Yet it is only a few gifted and adventurous minds that are able, from 
some advanced mountain-top, to catch a glimpse of the entire streain 
of truth, formed by the harmonious union of all principles, and flow- 
ing on majestically into the boundless ocean of all knowledge, the 
Iniinite mind. But when the Christian philosopher shall be permitted 
to resume the study of science in a future world, with powers of 
investigation enlarged and clarified, and all obstacles removed, he will 
be able to trace onward the various ramifications of truth, till they unite 
itto higher and higher principles, and become one in that centre of 
aentres, the Divine Mind. That is the Ocean from which all truth 
originally sprang, and to which it ultimately returns. To trace out 
Jje shores of that shoreless Sea, to measure its measureless extent, and 
CO fathom its unfathomable depths, will be the noble and the joyouf 
work of eternal ages. And yet eternal ages may pass by and see the 
work only liegun ! 



MORAL ^ND DIDACTIC. — JOHNSON. 19 

78. TKIUMPUS OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. —Rev. J. O. Lyons. 

Now gather all our Saxon bards, — let harps and hearts be strung. 
To celebrate the triumphs of our own good Saxon tongue ! 
For stronger far than hosts that march, with battle-flags unfurle<i 
It goes with Freedo.v, Thou'^iHT and Truth, to rouse and rulo the 
world. 

Stiut Albion hears its household lays on every surf-worn shore, 
And Scotland hears its echoing far as Orkney's breakers roar ; 
It climbs New England's rocky steeps a.s victor mounts a throno , 
Niagara knows and greets the voice, still mightier than its own. 

It spreads where Winter piles deep snows on bleak Canadian plains 
And where, on Essequibo's banks, eternal Summer reigns. 
It tracks the loud, swift Oregon, through sunset valleys rolled, 
And soars where California brooks wash down their sands of gold. 

It kindles realms so far apart, that while its praise you sing, 

These may be clad with Autumn's fruits, and those with flowers of 

Spring. 
It quickens lands whose meteor lights flame in an Arctic sky, 
And lands for which the Southern Cross hangs orbit fires on high. 

It goes with all that Prophets told, and righteous Kings desired ; 
With all that great Apostles taught, and glorious Greeks admire<i ; 
With Shakspeare's deep and wondrous verse, and Milton's lofty mind ; 
With Alfred's laws, and Newton's lore, to cheer and bless mankind. 

Mark, as it spreads, how deserts bloom, and Error flees away, 

(\.s vanishes the mist of night before the star of day ! 

Take heed, then, heirs of Saxon fame, — take heed, nor once disgrace, 

Wi*h recreant pen or spoiling sword, our noble tongue and race ! 

Gro forth, and jointly speed the time, by good men prayed for long, 
When Christian States, grown jest and wise, will scorn revenge and 

wrong ; 
Wl-'.en earth's oppressed and savage tribes shall cease to pine or roam, 
All taught to prize these English words: — Faith, Freedom HeaVKN, 

an 1 HoMEi 



T9. THE WATER-DRINKER —E. Johnson 

0, WATER for me ' bright water for me, 

And wine for the tremulous debauchee . 

Water cooleth the brow, and cooleth the bniia 

And maketh the faint one strong again ; 

It comes o'er the sense like a breeze from the sea. 

All freshness, like infant purity ; 

0, water, bright water, for me, for me . 

Gwe wine, give wine, to the debauchee ' 



00 THE STANDARD SPEARES. 

Fil] to the brim ! fill, fill to the brim ; 

Let the flowing crystal kiss the rim ! 

For my hand is steady, my eye is true, 

For I, like the flowers, drink nothing but dew. 

0, water, bright water 's a mine of wealth, 

And the ores which it yieldeth are vigor and h^ik 

So wat^r, pure water, for me, for me ' 

And wine for the tremulous debauchee 

Fill again to the brim, — again to the brim ! 

For water strengtheneth life and limb ! 

To the days of the aged it addeth length, 

To the might of the strong it addeth strength ; , 

It freshens the heart, it brightens the sight, 

'T is like quaffing a goblet of morning light , 

So, water, I will drink nothing but thee. 

Thou parent of health and energy ! 

When over the hills, like a gladsome bride. 

Morning walks forth in her beauty's pride, 

And, leading a band of laughing hours. 

Brushes the dew fi'om the nodding flowers, 

! cheerily then my, voice is heard 

Mingling with that of the soaring bird. 

Who flingeth abroad his matin loud, 

As he freshens his wing in the cold, gray cloud. 

But when evening has quitted her sheltering yew, 

Drowsily flying, and weaving anew 

Her dusky meshes o'er land and sea. 

How gently, sleep, fall thy poppies on me ! 

For I drink water, pure, cold, and bright. 

And my dreams are of Heaven the livelong night. 

So hurrah for thee, Water ! hurrah ! hurrah ! 

Thou art silver and gold, thou art riband and star 

Hurrah for bright water ! hurrah ! hurrah ! 



80. THE DAYS THAT ARE GONE. — Cnarles Mackay 

Who is it that mourns for the days that are gone. 
When a Noble could do as he liked with his own ? 
When his serfs, with their burdens well filled on their baflks 
Never dared to complain of the weight of a tax ? 
When his word was a statute, his nod was a law, 
And for aught but his " order " he cared not a straw ? 
When each had his dungeon and racks for the poor, 
And a gibbet to hang a refractory boor ? 

They were days when the sword settled questions of right 
And Falsehood was first to monopolize might : 



r 



MORAL iJSH DIDACTlu. lOi 

When Law never dreamed it was good to relent, 
Or thouglit it less wisdom to kill than prevent : 
When Justice herself, taking Law for her gmae, 
Was never appeased till a victim had died ; 
And the stealer of sheep and the slayer of men. ■ 
Were strung up together, again and again. 

They were days when the Crowd had no freedom of Bpeech, 

And reading and writing were out of its reach ; 

When Ignorance, stolid and dense, was its doom, 

And Bigotry swathed it from cradle to tomb ; 

When the Few thouglit the Many mere workers for them, 

To use them, and when they had used, to contenm ; 

A nd the Many, poor fools ! thought the treatment their due 

And crawled in the dust at the feet of the Few !■» 

No ! The Present, though clouds o'er her countenance roll. 

Has a light in her eyes, and a hope in her soul ; 

And we are too wise like the Bigots to mourn 

For the darkness of days that shall never return. 

Worn out and extinct, may their history serve 

As a beacon to warn us, whenever we swerve. 

To shun the Oppression, the Folly and Crime, 

That blacken the page of that Record of Time, 

Their chivalry lightened the gloom, it is true. 
And Honor and Loyalty dwelt with the Few ; 
But small was the light, and of little avail, 
Com[>ared with the blaze of cur Press and our Rail; 
Success to that blaze ! May it shine ovei- all. 
Till Ignorance learn with what grace she may fall. 
And fly from the world with the sorrow she wrought. 
And leave it to Virtue and Freedom of Thought. 



81. TKE WORK-SHOP AND THE CAMP. —For a Mechanic CeMrati«a 

The Camp has had its day of song : 

The sword, the bayonet, the plume, 
Have crowded out of rhyme too long 

The plough, the anvil, and the loom ! 
0, not upon our tented fields 

Ai'e Freedom's heroes bred alone 
The training of the Work-shop yields 

More heroes true than War has known 

Who drives the bolt, who shapes the steel. 

May, with a heart as valiant, smite, 
As he who sees a foeman reel 

In blood before his blow of miaht ' 



102 TIIB STANDAKD SPEAKER. 

iTie skill that conquers space and time, 
That graces life, that lightens toil, 

May spring from courage more sublime 
Than that which makes a realm ita spoil 

T^t Labor, then, look up and see 

His craft no pith of honor lacks ; 
The soldier's rifle yet shall be 

Less honored than the woodman's axe I 
Let Art his own appointment prize ; 

Nor deem that gold or outward height 
Can compensate the worth that lies 

la tastes that breed their own delight. 

And may the time draw nearer still. 

When men this sacred truth shall heed 
That from the thought and from the will 

Must all that raises man proceed ! 
Though Pride should hold our calling low 

For us shall duty make it good ; 
And we from truth to truth shall go, 

Till life and death are understood. 



&2. THE WISE MAN'S PRAYER.— £)r. Samuel Johnsott 

Inquirer, cease ! petitions yet remain 
Which Heaven may hear ; — nor deem religion vais 
Still raise for good the supplicating voice. 
But leave to Heaven the measure and the choice 
Safe in His power, whose eyes discern afar 
The secret ambush of a specious pray'r ; 
*Implore His aid, in His decisions rest, 
Secure, whate'er He gives, He gives the best. 
Yet, when the sense of sacred presence fires, 
And strong devotion to the skies aspires, 
Pour forth thy fervoi's for a healthful mind, 
Obedient passions, and a will resigned ; 
For love, which scarce collective man can fiU ; 
For patience, sovereign o'er transmuted ill ; 
For faith, that, panting for a happier seat, 
Counts death kind Nature's signal for retreat: 
These goods for man the laws of Heaven ordain ; 
These goods He grants who grants the power to g%ia 
With these, celestial Wisdom calms the mind, 
Ajid makes the happiness she does not find. 



PART SECOND. 



MARTIAL AND POPULAR, 



1. SCIPIO TO HIS ARMY. — Abridgment from Livy. 

Eflfcre !Le .wltle of Ticinus, B. C. 218, in which the Carthaginians, under flainiijsJ. wen 
>t:tori(,vis. The speech of the latter, on the same occasion, follows. 

Not because of their courage, soldiers, but because an engageuicnt 
is now inevitable, do the etiemy prepare tor baLtie. Two-thirJs ol' their 
infantry and cavalry have been lost in the passage of the Alps. Thost 
who survive hardly eciual in number those who have perished. 
Should any one say, " Though few, they are stout and irresistible,'' ] 
reply, — Not so ! They are the veriest shadows of men • wretcheSi 
emaciated with hunger, and benumbed with cold ; bruised and 
enfeebled among the rociis and crags; their joints frost-bitten, their 
sinews stiffened with the snow, their armor battered and shivered, 
their horses lame and powerless. Such is the cavalry, such the in- 
fantry, against which you have to contend ; — not enemies, but shreds 
and remnants of enemies I And I fear nothing more, than that when 
you have fought Hannibal, the Alps may seem to have been before- 
hand, and to have robbed you of the renown of a victory. But per- 
ha])S it was fitting that the Gods themselves, irrespective of human 
aid, should commence and carry forward a war against a leader and a 
people who violate the faith of treaties; and that we, who next to 
the Gods have been most injured, should complete the contest thus 
commenced, and nearly finished. 

I would, therefore, have you fight, soldiers, not only with that 
spirit with which you are wont to encounter other enemies, but with a 
certain indignation and resentment, such as you might cxoerience if 
you should see your slaves suddenly taking up arms against you. Wc 
might hav slain these Carthaginians, when they were shut up in 
Eryx, by hunger, the most dreadful of human tortures. We might 
have carried over our victorious fleet to Africa, and, in a few days. 
have destroyed Carthage, without opposition. ¥7e yielded to their 
prayors for pardon ; we released them from the blockade ; we made 
peace with them when conquered ; and we afterwards held them under 
our protection, when they were borne down by the African war, I? 
return for these benefits, they come, under the leadership of a. hot- 
brained youth, to lay waste our country. Ah ! would that the con- 
test on youi- side were no'tv for glory, and not for safety ! \\ is not 



104 THE STANDARD SIEAKER 

for tbe possession of Sicily and Sardinia, but for Italy, that you mu«l 
fight : noT is there another army behind, which, should we fail to con- 
quer, can resist the enemy : nor are there other Alps, during the 
passage of vpiiich, fresh forces may be procured. Here, soldiers, here 
we must make our stand. Here we must fight, as if we fought before 
the walls of Rome ! Let every man bear in mind, it is not only hi* 
own person, but his wife and children, he must now defend. Nor let 
the thought of them alone possess his ■ mind. Let him remember 
that the Roman Senate — the Roman People — are looking, with 
anxious e3^es, to our exertions ; and that, as our valor and our strength 
shall this day be, such will be the fortune of Rome — such the wel- 
fare — nay, the vei'y existence, of our country ! 



2. HANNIBAL TO HIS ARMY. — Abridgment from Livy. 

Here, soldiers, you must either conquer or die. On the right and 
left two seas enclose you ; and you have no ship to fly to for escape. 
The river Po around you, — the Po, larger and more impetuous than 
the Rhone, — the Alps behind, scarcely passed by you when fresh and 
vigorous, hem you in. Here Fortune has granted you the termina- 
tion of your labors ; here she will bestow a reward worthy of the 
service you have undergone. All the spoils that Rome has amassed 
by so many triumphs will be yours. Think not that, in proportion as 
this war is great in name, the victory will be difficult. From the 
Pillars of Hercules, from the ocean, from the remotest limits of the 
world, over mountains and rivers, you have advanced victorious 
through the fiercest Nations of Graul and Spain. And with whom 
are you now to fight ? With a raw array, which this very summer 
was beaten, conquered, and surrounded ; an army unknown to their 
leader, and he to them ! Shall I compare mj^self, almost born, and 
certainly bred, in the tent of my father, that illustrious commander, — 
myself, the conqueror, not only of the Alpine Nations, but of the 
Alps themselves, — myself, who was the pupil of you all, before I 
became your commander, — to this six months' general ? or shall I 
compare his army with mine ? 

On what side soever I turn my eyes, I behold all full of courage 
and strength : — a veteran infantry ; a most gallant cavalry ; you, our 
allies, most faithful and valiant ; you, Carthagimans, whom not only 
your e<3untry's cause, but the justest anger, impels to battle. The 
valor, the confid.mce of invaders, are ever greater than those of the 
defensive party. As the assailants in this war, we pour down, with 
hostile standards, upon Italy. We bring the war. Suifering, injury 
and indignity, fire our minds. First they demanded me, your leader, 
for piniishment ; and then all of you, who had laid siege to Saguntura. 
And, had we been given up, they would have visited us with thP 
severest tortures. Cruel and haughty Nation ! Everything must 
oe yotjurs, and ar your disposal ! You are to prescribe to us with 



MAH'TIAL A.ND POPULAR. REGULUS. 105 

..Jioin we siiaL uave war, with whom peace ! You are to esnut us up 
by the bonndaiics of mountains and rivers, which we must not pass ! 
But you — yov. are not to observe the limits yourselves have ap- 
pointed ! " Pass not the Iberus ! " — What next ? " Saguntum is on 
the Iberus. You must not move a step in any direction ! " — Is it a 
small thinof that you have deprived us of our most ancient provinces, 
Sicily and Sardinia ? Will you take Spain also ? Should we yield 
Spain, you will cross over into Africa. Will cross, did I say ? They 
have pent the two Consuls of this year, one to Africa, the other to 
Spain ! 

Soldiers, there is nothing left to us, in any quarter, but what we 
can vindicate with our swords. Let those be cowards who have 
something to look back upon ; whom, flying through safe and unmo- 
lested roads, their own country will receive. There is a necessity for 
us to be brave. There is no alternative but victory or death ; and, if it 
nmst be death, who would not rather encounter it in battle than in 
flight ? The immortal Gods could give no stronger incentive to vic- 
tory. Let but these trutlis be fixed in your minds, and once again J 
proclaim, you are concjuerors ! 



3. REGL'LUS TO THE ROMAN SENATE. — Orjs^no^. 

Ill does it become me, O Senators of Rome ! — ill does it become 
Regulus, — after having so often stood in this venerable Assembly 
clothed with the supi'cme dignity of the Republic, to stand before 
you a captive — the captive of Carthage ! Though outwardly I am 
free, — though no fetters encumber the limbs, or gall the flesh, — yet 
the heaviest of chains, — the pledge of a E,oraa;i Consul, — makes me 
the bondsman of the Carthaginians. They have my promise to return 
to them, in the event of the failure of this their emlmssy. My life 
is at their m.ercy. My honor is my own ; — a possession which no 
reverse of fortune can jeopard ; a flame which imprisonment cannot 
stifle, time cannot dim, death cannot extinguish. 

Of the train of disasters which followed close on the unexampled 
successes of our arms, — of the bitter fate which swept off the flower 
of our soldiery, and consigned me, your General, wounded and sense- 
less, to Carthaginian keeping, — I will not speak. For five years, a 
rigorous captivity has been luy portion. For five years, the society of 
family and friends, the rlcar amenities of home, the sense of fi-eedom, 
and the sight of country, have been to me a recollection and a dream, 
' — no more ! But during that period Rome has retrieved her defeats. 
She nas recovered under i^Ietellus what under Regulus she lost. She 
*ias routed armies. She has taken unnumbered prisoners. She has 
Btruck terror to tiie hearts of the Carthaginians ; who have now sent 
me bither with their x\mbassadors, to sue for peace, and to propose 
that, in exchange for me, your former Consul, a thousana common! 
prisoQijrs of war shall be given up. You have heard the Ambasaa 



106 THE STAND ASD SPEAKER. 

Jors. Tlieir intiraaiions of some unimaginable horror- — ! tnow not 
rrhat — impending over myself, should I fail to induce you to ac-^ept 
their terms, have strongly moved your sympathies in my behalf 
Another appeal, which I would you might have been spand, has lent 
fbrijc to their suit. A wife and children, threatened with widowhood 
and orphanage, weeping and despairing, have knelt at your feet, ou th4 
vcr}^ tSucshold of the Senate-chamber. — Conscript Fathers ! Shall 
loi Reg u! us be saved ? Must he return to Carthage to meet the 
ru-Liokies which the Ambassadors brandish before our eyes? — With 
ciie voice you answer, No ! — Countrjaiien ! Friends ! For all that . 
have sLilfcred — for all that I may have to suffer — I am repaid in 
the compensation of this moment ! Unfortunate, you may hold me ; 
but, 0, not undcsoi-ving I Your confidence in my honor survives all 
the ruin that adverse fortune could inflict. You have not forgotten 
the past. Republics are not ungrateful ! May the thanks I cannot 
utter bring down blessings from the Gods on you and flome ! 

Conscript Fathers ! There is but one course to be pursued. Aban- 
ion all thought of peace. Reject the overtures of Carthage ! Reject 
them wholly and unconditionally! What! Give back to her a 
thousand able-bodied men, and receive in return this one attenuated, 
war-worn, fever-wasted frame, — this weed, whitened in a dungeon's 
darkness, pale and sapless, which no kindness of the sun, no 
softness of the summe>" breeze, can ever restore to health and vigor ? 
It must not — it shal not be! ! were Regillus what he was once, 
before captivity had unstrung his sinews and enervated his limbs, 
he might pause, — he might proudly think he were well worth a 
thousand of the foe ; — he might say, " Make the exchange ! Roma 
shall not lose by it ! " But now — alas ! now 't is gon'e, — that 
impetuosity of strength, which could once make him a leader indeed, 
to penetrate a phalanx or guide a pursuit. His very armor would be 
a burthen now. His battle-cry would be drowned in the din of the 
onset. His sword would fall hiirndess on his opponent's shield. But, 
if he cannot live, he can at least die, for his country ' Do not deny 
him this supreme consolation. Consider : every indignity, every 
torture, which Carthage shall heap on his dying liours, will be better 
than a trumpet's call to your armies. They will remember only 
Regulus, their fellow-soldier and their leader. They will forget hia 
defeats. They will regard only his services to the Republic. Tunis, 
vSardinia, Sicily, — every well-fought field, won by his blood and 
theirs, — will flash on their remembrance, and kindle their avenging 
sv^rath And so shall Regains, though dead, fight as he never fought 
befor against the foe. 

Conscript Fathers ! There is another theme. My family — for- 
irive the thought ! To you, and to Rome, I confide them. I leave 
chem no legacy but my name, — no testament but my example. 

Ambassadors of Carthage I have spoken ; though not as you 
expected. I am your captive. Lend me back to whatever fate may 
await me. Doubt not that you shall find, to Roman hearts, country 
?6 dearer than life, and integrity more precious thac freedom ! 



ilARTIAIi AND POl'ULAR. — BKCTUS ICJ 

4 LE0,*fll.A3 TO HIS THRKE HUNBRED. — Oris-ina/ Translation from Pichat. 

Ye mon of Sparta, listen to the hope with which the Gods inspir<> 
Leonldas ! (Consider how largely our death may redound to the glorj 
and benefit of our country. Against this barbarian King, who, in hi? 
battle array, re(;kons as many nations as our ranks do soldiers, what 
could united Greece effect? In this emergency there is need that 
Bome unexiKicted power should interpose itself; — that a valor and 
devotion, unknown hitherto, even to Sparta, should strike, amaze, 
Bonlbund, this ambitious Despot ! From our blood, here freely shed 
to-day, shall this moral power, this sublime lesson of patriotism, pro- 
ceed. To Greece it shall teach the secret of her strength ; to the 
Persians, the certainty of their weakness. Befoi-e our scarred and 
bleeding bodies, we shall see the great King grow pale at his own 
victory, and recoil affi-ighted. Or, should he succeed in forcing the 
pass of Thermopylaj, he will trenil)le to learn, that, in marching upon 
our cities, he will find ten thousand, after us, equally prepared for 
death. Ten thousand, do I say ? O, the swift cont;.!gion of a generous 
enthusiasm ! Our example shall make Greece all fertile in heroes. 
An avenging cry shall follow the cry of her affliction. Country ! 
Independence ! From the IMessi'uiaii hills to the Hellespont, every 
heai't shall respond ; and a hunured thuLisiiiid heroes, with one sacred 
accord, shall arm themselves, in emulation of our unanimous death. 
These rocks shall give back the echo of thei)- oaths. Then shall our 
little band, — the brave tlirce hundred, — from the world of shadeSj 
revisit the scene ; behold the haughty Xerxes, a fugitive, re-cross the 
Hellespont in a frail bark ; while Greece, after eclipsing the most 
glorious of her exploits, shall hallow a new Olympus in the mound 
that covers our tombs. 

Yes, fellow-suldicrs, history and ]iosterity shall consecrate our ashes. 
Wherever couniiXL' is hdimrLMl, thrdULi'li all time, shall Tliennopyloe and 
the Spartan three huudi-ed lie i-cincia!.)ered. Ours shall be an immor- 
tality such as no human glory has yet attained. And when ages shall 
have swept by, and Sptirta's last hour shall have come, then, even 
in her ruins, shall she be c]oi[Ucnt. Tyrants shall turn away from 
theui, appalled; but the hei-(.ies (A' liberty — the poets, the sages, the 
historians of all time — shall invoke and bless the, memory of the 
gallant three hundred of Leonldas ! 



6. BRUTU? OVER THE DEAD LUCRETIA. —Original and Compi ea. 

You are amazed, Ptomans ! even amid the general horror a* 
Llcretia's death, that lirutus, whom you have known liitherto only aa 
the fool, .should all at once assume the language and bearing of a man . 
Did not the Sibyl .say, a fool should set Home free ? I am that fool ! 
Brutus bids Rome be free ! If he has |)layed the fool, it was to seize 
the wise man's opportunity Here he throws off the mask of madness. 
'Tie Lucius Junius now, your countryman, who calls ujou you, b^ 
this innocent blood, to swear eternal vengeance against kings ! 



106 



THE STANJJAilD SPEAKEE. 



Look, Koixiiiis ! turn your eyes on this sad spectacle . — 'ht 
daughtei of Lucretius, Collatinus' wife ! By her own hand she died 
See there a nc^^le lady, whom the ruffian lust of a Tarquia reduced to 
the necessity of being her own executioner, to attest her innocence ! 
Hospitably entertained by her as her husband's kinsman, Sextus, the 
■perfidious guest, became her brutal ravisher. The chaste, the genorous 
Lucretia, could not survive the outrage. Heroic matron ! But C'sca 
)nly treated as a slave, life was no longer endurable! And if ^hfi, 
with her soft woman's nature, disdained a life, that depended on a 
tyrant's will, shall we — shall men, with such an example before 
their eyes, and after five-and-twenty years of ignominious servitude 
— shall we, through a fear of death, delay one moment to assert our 
freedom ? No, Bomans ! The favorable moment is come. The time 
IS — now ! Fear not that the army will take the part of their Gen- 
erals, rather than of the People. The love of liberty is natural to all ; 
and your fellow-citizens in the Camp feel the weight of oppression as 
sensibly as you. Doubt not they will as eagerly seize the opportunity 
of throwing off their yoke. 

Courage, Bomans ! The Gods are for us ! those Gods whose tem- 
ples and altars the impious Tarquin has profaned. By the blood of 
the wronged Lucretia, I swear, — hear me, ye Powers Supreme ! — by 
this blood, which was once so pure, and which nothing but royal villaoy 
could have polluted, — I swear that I will pursue, to the death, these 
Tarquins, with fire and sword ; nor will I ever suffer any one of that 
family, or of any other family whatsoever, to be King in Bome ! — 
On to the Forum ! Bear the body hence, high in the public view, 
through all the streets ! On, Bomans, on ! The fool shall set you 
free ! ^ 

6 SEPLY OF ACHILLES TO THE ENVOYS OF AGAJIEMNON, SOLICrriNQ k RBO 
ONCILIATION. — Co (I'per'x Homer. 

I MUST with plainness speak my fixed resolve ; 
For I abhor the man, — not more the gates 
Of hell itself! — whose words belie his heart. 
So shall not mine I IMy judgment undisguised 
Is this : that neither Agamemnon me 
Nor all the Greeks shall move ! For ceaseless toil 
Wins here no thanks ; one recompense awaits 
The sedentary and the most alert ! 
The brave and base in equal honor stand, — 
And drones and heroes fall unwept alike ' 
I, after all my labors, who exposed 
My life continual in the field, have earned 
No very sumptuous prize ! As the poor bird 
Gives to her unfledged brood a morsel gained 
After long search, though wanting it herself, 
^■■0 I have worn out many sleepless nights, 
And waded deep through many a bloody day 



MARTIAL AND POPULAR. HOJIEr l'>9 

la battle for their wives. I have destroyed 

Twelve cities with my fleet ; and twelve, save one 

On foot contending, in the fields of Troy. 

From all these cities precious spoil I took 

Abumlant, and to Agamemnon's hand 

Gave all the treasure. He within his ships 

Abode the while, and, having all received, 

Littje distributed, and much retained. 

He gave, however, to the Kings and Chiefe 

A portion, and they keep it. Me alone. 

Of all the Grecian host, hath he despoiled ! 

My bride, my soul's delight, is in his hands ! 

Tell him my reply : 

And tell it him aloud, that other Greeks 

May indignation feel like me, if, armed 

Always in impudence, he seek to wrong 

Them also. Let hhn not henceforth presume — 

Canine and hard in aspect though he be — 

To look me in the face. I will not share 

His counsels, neither will I aid his works. 

Let it suffice him, that he wronged me once, — 

Deceived me once ; — henceforth his glozing arte 

Are lost on me ! But, let him rot in peace. 

Crazed as he is, and, by the stroke of Jove, 

Infatuate ! I detest his gifts ! — and him 

So honor as the thing which most I scorn ! 

And would he give me twenty times the worth 

Of this his offer, — all the treasured heaps 

WTiich he possesses, or shall yet possess, 

All that Orchomenos within her w;Uls, 

And all that opulent Egyptian Thebes 

Receives, — the city with a hundred gates. 

Whence twenty thousand chariots rush to war, — 

And would he give me riches a.s the sands, 

And as the dust of earth, — no gifts from him 

Should soothe me, till my soul were first avenged 

For all the oflensive license of his tongue. 

I will not wed the daughter of your Chief, — 

Of Agamemnon. Could she vie in charms 

With golden Venus, — had she all the skill 

Of blue-eyed Pallas, — even so endowed. 

She were no bride for me ! 

Bear ye mine answer back. 



BKUTOR'S EEIJUKE TO POLYDAM AS. —Couipers «owt*'. A^tagta. 

PoLYDAMAS to dautitlcss Hoctor spake : 
Oittimes in council, Hector, thou art wont 



110 THE STANDARD S^'EAKER. 

To censure me, although ad-vising well 
Yet hear my best opinion once again . 
I'roueed we not in our attempt against 
The Grecian fleet. The omens we have seen 
All urge against it. When the eagle flew, 
Clutching the spotted snake, then dropping it 
Into the open space between the hosts, 
Troy's host was on the left. Was this propitiouB 
No. JMany a Trojan shall we lea7e behind. 
Slain by the Grecians in their fleet's defence. 
An augur skilled in omens would expound 
This omen thus, and faith would win from all. 
To whom dark-louring Hector thus replied : 
Polydttmas ! I like not thy advice; 
Thou couldst have framed iiir better ; but if this 
Be thy deliberate judgment, then the Gods 
Make thy deliberate judgment nothing worth, 
Who bidd 'st me disregard the Thunderer's firm 
Assurance to myself announced, and make 
The wild inhabitants of air my guides, 
Which I alike despise, speed they their course 
With right-hand flight toward the ruddy East, 
Or leftward down into the shades of eve ! 
Consider we the will of Jove alone. 
Sovereign of Heaven and Earth. Omens abound ; 
But the best omen is our country's cause.* 
Wherefore should fiery war tl/y soul alarm ? 
For were we slaughtered, one and all, arsund 
The fleet of Greece, thoic need'st not fear to die, 
Whose courage never will thy flight retard. 
But if thou shrink thyself, or by smooth 
Seduce one other from a soldier's part, 
Pierced by this spear incontinent thou diest ! 



I HECTOR'S EXPLOIT AT TUE BARRIERS OF THE GRECIAN FIEEP.- Idem 

So hung the war in balance, — 
Till Jove himself, superior fame, at length. 
To Priameian Hector gave, who sprang 
First through the wall. In lofty sounds that leached 
Their utmost ranks, he called on all his ho.->t : 

Now press thtuu ! now, ye Trojuns, steed- renowned; 
Rush on ! break through the Grecian rampart ! hurl 
At once devouring flames into the fleet ! 

Such Wcis his exhortation. They, his VDiee 

• The nobleness of this reply may have been paralleled, but not snrpassed, b? 

f«tri)ts of rioeeeding times. 



MARTIAL AND POPULAR. — HOMKR. I I] 

Ail hearing, with close-orcloretl ranks, direct 
Bore on the barrier, and u])-swarniing showed 
On the high battlement their glittering spears. 
But Hjctor seized a stone; of ample base, 
But tapering to a point ; before the gate 
It stood. jMo two men, mightiest of a land 
(Such men as now are mighty), could with ease 
Flave heaved it from the eartla up to a wain ; 
He swung it easily alone, — so light 
The son of Saturn made it in his hand. 
As in one hand with ease the shepherd bears 
A ram's fleece home, nor toils beneath the weight 
So Hector, right toward the planks of those 
Majestic folding-gates, close-jointed, firm 
And solid, bore the stone. Two bars within 
Their corresponding force combined transverse 
To guard them, and one bolt secured the bars. 
He stood fast by them, parting wide his feet 
For 'vantage sake, and smote them in the midst 
He burst both hinges ; inward fell the rock 
Ponderous, and the portals roared ; the bars 
Endured not, and the planks, riven by the force 
Of that huge mass, flew scattered on all sides. 
In leaped the godlike Hero at the breach. 
Gloomy as night in aspect, but in arms 
All-dazzling, and he grasped two quiveriag spears 
Him entering with a leap the gates, no force 
Whate'cr of opposition had repressed, 
Save of the Gods alone. Fire filled his eyes , 
Turning, he bade the multitude without 
Ascend the rampart ; they his voice obeyed ; 
Part climbed the wall, part poured into the gate 
The Grecians to their hollow galleys flew, 
Scattered ; and tumult infinite arose. 



9. HECTOR SLAIN BY ACHILLES. —Cow;jer's Home* 

Brioht as among the stars the star of all, 
Most radiant Hesperus, at midnight moves, 
So in the right hand of Achilles beamed 
His brandished spear, while, meditating woe 
To Hector, he explored his noble form, 
Seeking where he was vulnerable most. 
But every part, his dazzling armor, torn 
From brave Patroclus' body, well secured, 
Save wheie the circling key-bone from the necK 
Di^oins the shoulder there his throat appeared 



il2 THE STANDARD SPEAZ-ES,. 

WTience injured life with swiftest flight escapsa, 
Achilles, plunging in that part his spear, 
Impelled it through the yielding flesh beyond. 
The ashen beam his power of uiterance left 
Still unimpaired, but in the dust he fell 
And the exulting conqueror exclaimed 

But Hector ; thou had'st once far other hopes, 
And, stripping slain Patroclus, thought'st thee safe. 
Nor cared 'st for absent me. Foncl dream and vain ! 
I was not distant far. In yonder fleet 
He left one able to avenge his death. 
And he hath slain thee. Thee the dogs shall rend 
Dishonorably, and the fowls of air, — 
But all Achaia's host shall him entomb ! 

To whom the Trojan Chief languid replied : 
By thy own life — by theirs who gave thee birth — 
And by thy knees — ! let not Grecian dogs 
Rend and devour me ; but in gold accept 
And brass a ransom at my father's hands, 
And at my mother's an illustrious price. 
Send home my body ! — grant me burial rites 
Among the daughters and the sons of 'froy ! 

To whom, with aspect stern, Achilles thus : 
Dog ! neither knees nor parents name to me ! 
I would uiy fierceness of revenge were such 
That I sould carve and eat thee, to whose arms 
Such griefs I owe ; so true it is and sure 
That none shall save thy carcass from the dogs ! 
No, trust me, would thy parents bring me, weighed, 
Ten — twenty — ransoms, and engage, on oath, 
To add still more ; — would thy Dardanian Sire, 
Priam, redeem thee with thy weight in gold, — 
Not even at that price would I consent 
That she who bare should place tliee on thy bier. 
With lamentation ! Dogs and ravening fowls 
Shall rend thy body, while a shred remains ! 

Then, dying, warlike Fleeter thus replied 
Full well I knew befare how suit of mine 
Should speed, preferred to thee. Thy heart is steel 
But, ! while yet thou liv'st, think, lest the Gods 
Requite tht;e on that day, when, pierced thyself. 
By Paris and Apollo, thou shalt fall, 
Brave as thou art, before the Scjean gate ! 

He ceased ; and death involved him dark around. 
His spirit, from his limbs dismissed, the house 
Of Ades sought, mourning, in her descent, 
Youth's prune and vigor lost, — disastrous doom ' 



MARTIAL AND POPULAR. FENELON. 1 18 

But him, though dead, Achilles thus bespake : 
Die thou ! My death shall find nie at what hour 
Jove gives commandment, and the Gods above. 



..• rELEMACm:S TO THE ALLIED CHIEFS.— Fene/on. Born, 1651 ; iio.d, mi 
Original Abrid},'ment. 

Felloav -SOLDIERS and confederated chiefs ! I gi-ant you, if evei' 
man deserved to have the weapon of stratagem and deceit turned 
against hin), it is he who has used it himself so often, — the faith- 
less Adrastus ! But shall it be said that we, who have united to pun- 
ish the perfidy of this man, — that we are ourselves perfidious ? 
Shall fraud be counteracted by fraud ? If we can adopt the practices 
of Adrastus without guilt, Adrastus himself is innocjnt, and oui 
present attempt to punish him is unwarrantable. You havB sworn, 
by all that is most sacred, to leave Venusium a deposit in the hands 
of the Lucanians. The Lucanian garrison, you say, is corrupted by 
A.dra.stus. I do not doubt it. But this garrison is still Lucanian 
It receives the pay of the Lucaniaws, and has not yet refused to obey 
them. It has preserved, at least, an appearance of neutrality. 
Neither Adrastys nor his people have yet entered it. The treaty L'. 
still subsisting ; and the Gods have not forgotten your oath. 

Is a promise never to be kept but when a plausible pretence to 
break it is wanting ? Shall an oath be sacred only when nothing is 
to be gained by its violation ? If you are insensible to the love of 
virtue, and the fear of the Gods, have you no regard to your interest 
and reputation ? If, to terminate a war, you violate your oath, how 
many wars will this impious conduct excite ? Who will hereafter 
trust you ? What security can you ever give for your good faith ? 
A solemn treaty ? — You have trampled one under foot ! An oath ? - - 
You have committed perjury when perjury was profitable, and have 
defied the Gods ! In peace, you will be regarded as treacherously 
preparing for war. Every affair, based on a confidence in your 
probity, will become impracticable. Your promises will not bo 
believed. Nay, the very league which now constitutes your strength 
will lose its cohesive principle. Your perjury will be the triumph of 
Adrastus ! He will not need to attack you himself. Your own 
iisfcnsions, your own mistrusts, your own duplicity, will be your ruin. 

Ye mighty chiefs, renowned for magnanimity and wisdom, expe- 
rienced and brave, governing uncounted thousands, — despise n jt the 
oounsel of a youth ! To wliatever extremity war may reduce you, let 
your resources be diligence and virtue. True fortitude can never 
despair. But, if you once pass the bari-ier of honor and integrity, 
the ruin of your cause is irreparable. You can neither reestablish 
that confidence without which no affair of importance can succeed, 
Qor can you bring men back to the reverence of that virtue which you 
have taught them to despise. What have you to fear ? Is not your 
eouiago equal \r victory, without the aid of fraud ? Youi- own powei 



114 THE STANDAED SPEAKER. 

jcin'jd fco tliat of the many under your command, — is it not sufficient ! 
Let ufr fight, let us die, if we must, — but let us not conquer unwor- 
thily. Adi-astus, the impious Adrastus, is in our power, provided — 
provided we disdain to imitate the cowardice and treachery which 
nave sealed his ruin ! 



11, IITIS QUINTIUS AGAINST QUARRELS BETWEEN THE SENATE iND SEl 
PEOPLE. — Abridgment from Livy. 

Though I am conscious of no fault, Romans, it is yet with the 
utmost shame I have come forward to your Assembly. You have 
Been it — posterity will know it — that, in my fourth consulate, the 
JBquans and Volscians came in arms to the very gates of Rome, and 
went away unchastised ! Had I foreseen that such an ignominy had 
been reserved for my official year, — that Rome might have been taken 
while I was Consul, — I would have shunned the olfice, either by exile 
or by death. Yes ; I have had honors enough, — of life more than 
enough ! I should have died in my third consulate. Whom did these 
most dastardly enemies despise ? • — us, Consuls, or you, citizens ? If 
we are in fault, depose us, — punish us as we deserve. If you, Romans, 
are to blame, may neither Gods nor men make you suffer for your 
offences ! — only may you repent. No, Romans, the (Confidence of our 
enemies is not from a belief in their own courage, or in your cowardice. 
They have been too often vanquished, not to know both themselves 
and you. Discord, discord amongst ourselves, is the ruin of this city. 
The eternal disputes between the Senate and the People are the sole 
cause of our misfortunes. 

In the name of Heaven, what is it, Romans, you would have ? You 
desired Tribunes of the commons. For the sake of concord, we 
granted Tribunes. You were eager to have Decemvirs. We suffered 
them to be created. You grew weary of Decemvirs. We conrpelled 
them to abdicate. You insisted on the restoration of the Tribuvieship. 
We yielded. You invaded our rights. We have borne, and still 
bear. What termination is there to be to these dissensions* { ^Vhen 
shall we have a united city ? When one common country ? With 
the enemy at our gates, — with the Volscian foe scaling your ram- 
part, — there is no one to hinder it. But against us you .ire valiant, 
— against us you diligently take up arms ! Come on, th.n. Besiege 
the Senate-house. Make a camp of the Forum. Fill the jails with 
rnir chief nobles. Then sally out with the same detc/mined spirit 
against the enemy. Does your resolution fail ? LooL, then, to see 
your lands ravaged, your houses plundered and in flaL,ies, the whc.le 
30untry laid waste with fire and sword. 

Elxtlnguish, Romans, these fatal divisions ! Brej*k the spell of 
this enchantment, which renders you powerless and in&otive ' If you 
will but summon up the ancient Roman courage, and follow youi 
Consuls to the field, I will submit to any punishment, if I do not rout 
i,nd put to flight these ravagers of our territories, and transfer to their 
mn cities the terror of wax 



MARTIAL AXD POPULAR. — SALLUST. 115 

a nAJVS MABIfS TO TITR R0:MAXS, on TIIK objections to making IQM 
GENERMj. — Oriifinal Parap/ir-tie from Sallust 

You have uommittod to my conduct, Romans, the war againsi 
Jugurtha. The Patricians are oflfcndcd at this. " He has no ^'aniilj 
statues," they exclaim. " He can point to no illustrious line d' an- 
cestors ! " What then ? Will dead ancestors will motioules? p.tr t^ 
aes, help fight your battles ? Will it avail your General to appeal tc 
these, in the perilous hour ? Rare wisdom would it be, my country- 
men, to intrust the command of your army to one whose only qualifi" 
cation fijr it would be the virtue of his forefathers! to one untried 
and unexperienced, but of most unexceptionable family ! who could not 
show a solitary scar, but any number of ancestral statues ! who knew 
not the first rudiments of war, but was very perfect in pedigrees ! 
Truly I have known of such holiday heroes, — raised, because of family 
considerations, to a command for which they were not fitted, — whc, 
when the moment for action arrived, were obliged, in their ignorance 
and trepidation, to give to some inferior officer — to some despised 
Plebeian — the ordering of every movement. 

I submit it to you, Romans, — is Patrician pride or Plebeian experience 
the safer reliance ? The actions of which my opponents have merely 
read, I have achieved or shared in. What they have seen written In 
books, I have seen written on battle-fields with steel and blood. They 
object to my humble birth. They sneer at my lowly origin. Impo- 
tent objection ! Ignominious sneer ! Where but in the spirit of a man 
(bear witness, Gods!), — where but in the spirit, can his nobility be 
lodged ? and where his dishonor, but in his own cowardly inaction, or 
his unworthy deeds ? Tell these railers at my obscure extraction, their 
haughty lineage could not make them noble — my humble birth could 
never make me base. 

I profess no indifierence to noble descent. It is a good thing to 
number great men among one's ancestry. But when a descendant is 
dwarfed in the comparison, it should be accounted a shame rather than 
a boast. These Patricians cannot despise me, if they would, since their 
titles of nobility date from ancestral services similar to those which [ 
myself have rendered. And what if I can show no family statues ^ 
I can show the stjindards, the armor, and the spoils, which I myself 
have wrested from the vanquished. I can show the sears of riany 
svounds received in combating the enemies of Rome. These are my 
statues ! These the honors I can boast of! Not an accidental inherit' 
ance, like theirs; but earned by toil, by abstinence, by valor; amid 
ilouds of dust and seas of blood; scenes of action, in wmch -these 
effeminate Patricians, who would now depreciate me in your esteem, 
have never dared to appear, — no, not even as spectators ! Here, 
Romans, are my credentials ; here, my titles of nobility ; here, ?m 
claims to the generalship of your army ! Tell me, are ihay not tw 
rospectable, are they not as valid, are they not as deserving of your 
confidence and reward, as those whir-h any Patrician of theio all kid 
xfTcr ? 



116 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

&. CAIUS OKiCCHUS. CITED BEFORE THE CENSORS, A^^PEALS TC Wl*. 
PEOPLE. — Original Adaptation from J. S. Knowles. 

It appears 
I am cited here because I have returned 
Without my General's leave, and for the crime 
Of having raised the tumult at Fregella. 
First, with the first. I have remained my time 
Kay, I have over-served it by the laws, — 
The laws which Caius Gracchus dares not break. 
Eut, Censors, let that pass. I will propose 
A better question for your satisfaction : — 
" How have I served my time ? " I '11 answer that : — 
" How have I served my time ? For mine own gain, 
Or that of the Ptepublic ? " What was my office ? 
Quaestor. What was its nature ? Lucrative, — 
So lucrative, that all my predecessors 
Who went forth poor returned home very rich, 
I went forth poor enough. 
But have returned still poorer than I went. 
Ye citizens of Rome, behold what favor 
Your masters show your brethren ! I have borne 
My country's arms with honor ; over-served 
My time ; returned in poverty, that might 
Have amassed treasures, — and they thus reward me: — 
Prefer a charge against me without proof, 
Direct or indirect ; without a testimony, 
Weighty or light ; without an argument, 
Idle or plausible ; without as much 
Of feasibility as would suffice 
To feed suspicion's phantom ! Why is this ? 
How have I bought this hatred ? WTien my brother, 
Tiberius Gracchus, fell beneath their blows, 
I called them not assassins ! Wlien his friends 
Fell sacrifices to their after-vengeance, 
I did not style them butchers ' — did not name them 
The proud, perfidious, insolent Patricians ! 

Ye men of Rome, there is no fiivor, now, 
For justice ! Grudgingly her dues are granted ! 
Your great men boast no moi'e the love of coimtry. 
They comit their talents ; measure their domains ; 
Enlarge their palaces ; dress forth their banquets ; 
■ Awake their lyres and timbrels ; and with their floods 
Of ripe Falernian drown the little left 
Of virtue ! — Romans, I would be your Tribime. 
Fear not. Censors ! I would raise no tumult ; 
This hand 's the first to arm against the man 
Whoe'er he be, that favors civil discord • 



PARTIAL AND POPULAR. TACITUS. ..It 

I have no gust for blood, nor for oppression , 
I sacrifice to Justice and to IMcrey ! 

The laws ! the laws ! Of common right the guard — 
The wealth, the happiness, the freedom of 
The Nation ! Who has liidden them, defaced them, 
Sold them, corrupted them from the pure letter ? 
Why do they guard the rich man's cloak fi'om a rent, 
And tear the poor man's garment from his back ? 
Why arc they, in the proud man's grasp, a sword, 
And in the hand of the humble man, a reed ? • 
The laws ! The laws ! I ask you for the laws ' 
Demand them in my country's sacred name ! 
Still silent ? Reckless still of my appeal ? 
Romans ' I ask the office of your Tribune ! 



14. GALGACUS TO THE CA.LEJ)0^1AtiS. — Oriffinat Abridfrment from Tacitm 

Reflecting on the origin of this war, and on the straits to which 
we are reduced, I am persuaded, Caledonians, that to your strong 
hands and indomitable will is British liberty this day confidod. There 
is no retreat for us, if vanquished. Not even the sea, covered as it is 
by the Roman fleet, oifers a path for escape. And thus war and arms, 
ever welcomed by the brave, are now the only safety of the cowardly, 
if any such there be. No refuge is behind us ; naught but the rocks, 
and the waves, and the deadlier Romans : men whose pride you have 
vainly tried to conciliate by forbearance ; whose cruelty you have 
vainly sought to deprecate by moderation. The robbers of the globe, 
when the land fails, they scour the sea, Is the enemy rich, — they are 
avaricious; is he, poor, — they are ambitious. The East and the West 
are unable to satiate their desires. Wealth and poverty are alike 
coveted by their rapacity. To carry off, to massacre, to riiake seiz- 
ures under false pretences, this they call empire ; and when they make 
a desert, they call it peace ! 

Do not suppose, however, that the prowess of these Romans is equal 
to their lust. They have thrived on our divisions. They know how 
to turn the vices of others to their own profit. Casting off all hope 
of pardon, let us exhibit the courage of men to whom salvation ar.d 
glory are equally dear. Nursed in freedom as we have been, uncon* 
quered and unconfjuerable, let us, in the fiv«t onset, show these usurp- 
ers what manner of men they are that Old Caledonia shelters in hoj 
bosom ! All tiie incitements to victory are on our side. Wives, 
parents, children, — these we have to prc/cect ; and these the Romana 
have not. Tliey have none to cry shame upon their flight ; none to 
?hed tears of exultation at their success. Few in number'!, fearful 
from ignorance, gazing on unkn^jwn forests and untried seas, the Goda 
have delivered them, hemmed in, bound and helpless, into our hands. 
Let no*' their showy aspect, their glitter of silver and gold, dismay 
70U. Such adoru-nen's can neither harm nor protect from harm. Id 



ny THE STANDARD 6PEAKER. 

the very liue of the enemy we shall find friends. The Britons, eh* 
(jiauls, the (xermans, will recognize their own cause in ours. Here k 
a leader ; her 5 an army ! There are tributes, and levies, and badges 
of servitude, — impositions, which to assume, or to trample under fool 
forever, lies now in the power of your arms. Forth, then, Oaledomans 
4c the field ! Think of your ancestors ! Think of your descendants ' 



15. ICILITJS ON VniGINIA'S SEIZURE. — T. B. Macaulay. 

Now by your children's cradles, — now, by your fathers" graves, 
Be men to-day, Quirltes, or be forever slaves ! 
For this did Servius give us laws ? For this did Lucrece bleed ? 
For this was the great vengeance wrought on Tarquin's evil seed ? 
For this did those fiilse sons make red the axes of their sire ? 
For this did Scaevola's right hand hiss in the Tuscan fire ? 
Sliall the vile earth-fox awe the race that stormed the bon's den ? 
Shall we, who could not brook one lord, crouch to the wicked Ten ' 
for that ancient spirit which curbed the Senate's will ! 
for the tents which in old time whitened the Sacred ffiU ! 
In those brave days our fathers stood firmly, side by side ; 
They faced the Marcian fury ; they tamed the Fabian pride ; 
Tliey drove the fiercest Quinctius an outcast forth from Rome 
They sent, the naughtiest Claudius with shivered fiisces home. 
But what their care bequeathed us, our madness flung away : 
All the ripe fruit of threescore years was blighted in a day. 
Exult, ye proud Patricians ! The hard-fought fight is o'er. 
We strove for honors, — 't was in vain : for freedom, — 't is no aaors. 
No crier to the polling summons the eager throng ; 
No Tribune breathes the word of might, that guards the weas frca 

wrong. 
Our very hearts, that were so high, sink down beneath your will. 
Riches, and lands, and power, and state — ye have them: — -keey 

them still. 
Still keep the holy fillets ; still keep the purple gown. 
The axes and the curule chair, the car, and laurel ci'own 
Still press us for your cohorts, and, when the fight is done, 
Still fill your garners from the soil which our good swords have won- 
But, by the Shades beneath -us, and by the Gods above. 
Add cot unto your c'tuel hate your yet more cruel love ' 
Have ye not graceful ladies, whose spotless lineage springs 
From Consuls, and High Pontiffs, and ancient Alban kings ? 
Then lea^e the poor Plebeian his single tie to life — 
The sweet, sweet love of daughter, of sister, and of wife ; 
The gentle speech, the balm for all that his vexed soul endures. 
The kiss, in which he half forgets even such a yoke as youra. 
Still let the maiden's beauty swell the father's breast with prids 
Still let the bridegroom's arms enfold an unpolluted bride 



MARTIAL AXP POPULAR. — HEM iNS. 1 IS 

Spare lu. the inexpiable wrong, the unutterable shanio, 

That turns the coward's heart to steel, the sluggard's blood to flame, 

Lest, when our latest hope is fled, ye taste of our despair, 

And learn, by proof, in some wild hour, how much the wretched dare 



13 THE SPARTANS' MARCH. — Fe/iciaWemnns. Born, 1794 ; dierf, 1S35. 

The Spartans used not the tninipet in tlieu' mardi into hattle, says Thucydidcs, because they 
Wishe i not to excite the nige of their waiTiors. Their chargiug-atep was made to the Dorian 
mojd of flutes and soft recorders. 

T WAS morn upon the Grrecian hills, where peasants dressed the vines 
Sunlight was on Cithteron's rills, Arcadia's rocks and pines. 
And brightly, through his reeds and <^9wcrs, Eurotiis wandered by, 
When a sound arose from Sparta's towers of solemn harmony. 
Was it the hunter's choral strain, to the woodland-goddess poured ? 
Did virgin hands, in Pallas' fane, strike the full-sounding chord ? 

But helms were glancing on the stream, spears ranged in close array, 
And shields flung l^ack a glorious beam to the morn of a fearful day 
And the mountain echoes of the land swelled through the deep-blue sky 
While to soft strains moved forth a band of men that moved to die. 
They marched not with the trumpet's blast, nor bade the horn peal out 
And the laurel-groves, as on they passed, rung with no battle shout ! 

They asked no clarion's voice to fire their souls with an impulse high 
But the Dorian reed, and the Spartan lyre, for the sons of liberty ! 
And still sweet flutes, their path around, sent forth ..^olian breath : 
They needed not a sterner sound to marshal them for death ! 
So moved they calmly to their field, thence never to return, 
Save bringing back the Spartan shield, or on it proudly borne ' 



17. THE GREEKS' RETURN FROM BATTLE. — /Jzd. 

lo ! they come, they come ! garlands for every shrine ! 

Strike lyres to greet "them home ! bring roses, pour ye wine ! 

Swell, swell the Dorian flute, through the blue, triumphant sky ! 

Let the Cittern's tone salute the sons of victory. 

With the ofi'ering of bright blood, they have ransomed hearth and tomb^ 

Vineyard, and field, and flood ; — lo ! they come, they come ' 

Sing it where olives wave, and by the glittering sea, 
And o'or each hero's grave, — sing, sing, the land is free ! 
Mark ye the flashing oars, and the spears that light the deep ! 
How the festal sunshine pours, where the lords of battle sweep ! 
Bach hath brought back his shield ; — maid, greet thy lover home ! 
Mother, from that proud field, — lo ! thy son is ceme ! 

Who murmured of the dead ? Hush, boding voice ! We know 
That many a shining head lies in its glory low. 
Breathe not tiiosc names to-day ! They shall have their praiae ere long 
Acl a power all hearts to sway, in ever-burning song. 



120 ITIE STANDARD SPEAKEk. 

But nrrw shed flowers, pour wine, to hail the conquerors hom« 
Bring wreaths for every shrine, — lo ! they come, they corns 



18, ODE. — William Collins. Born. 1720 , diecL, 1756. 

How sleep the brave, who sink to rest, 
By all their country's wishes blest ! 
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, 
Returns to deck their hallowed mould, 
She there shall dress a sweeter sod 
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. 

By fairy hands their knell is rung ; 
By forms unseen their dirge is sung ; 
There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray, 
To bless the turf that wraps their clay ; 
And Freedom shall a while repair, 
To dwell, a weeping hermit, there. 



li VIEGINIUS AS TRIBUNE, REFUSES THE APPEAL OF APPIUS CLATDHIB 
— Original Paraphrase from Livy. 

1 AFFIRM, Romans, that Appius Claudius is the only man iiol 
entitled to a participation in the laws, nor to the common privileges of 
civil or human society. The tribunal over which, as perpetual Decemvir, 
he presided, was made the fortress of all villanies. A despiser of Gods 
and men, he vented his fury on the properties and persons of citizens, 
threatening all with his rods and axes. Executioners, not Lictors, 
were his attendants. His passions roaming from rapine to murder, 
from murder to lust, he tore a free-born maiden, as if she were a 
prisoner of war, from the embraces of me, her father, before the 
eyes of the Roman People, and gave her to his creature, the purveyor 
of his secret pleasures ! Ye heard, my countrymen, the cruel decree, 
the infamous decision. Ye beheld the right hand of the father armed 
against his daughter. Armed against, do I say ? No, by the Gods I 
armed in her behalf^ — since it was to rescue her, by death, from dis- 
honor, that I sheathed in her innocent bosom the knife ! Ye heard 
the tyrant, when the uncle and the betrothed husband of Virginia 
raised her lifeless body, order them to be taken off to prison. Yes, 
Romans, even at that tragical moment, the miscreant Claudius was 
more moved by the disappointment of his gross, sensual appetite than 
by the untimely death of the unoffending victim ! 

And Appius Claudius now appexds ! You hear his words . " 1 
appeal ! " This m^n, who, so recently, as Decemvir, would have con- 
signed a free-born maiden to bonds and to dishonor, utters that sacred 
expression that safeguard of Roman lilierty, — -'I appeal ! " Well may 
ye stand a^ne-struck and silent, my countrymen ! Ye see, at 
length, that there are Gods who overlook human affairs ; that there is 
uuch a thiiig as retribuxion ! Ye see that punishment must soone? 



MARTIAL AND POPULAR. — LIVY. . VJl 

it later ovodake all tyranny and injustice. The man who abciishcd 
the right of appeal now appeals ! The man who trampled on thd 
rights of the People now implores the protection of the People ! 
A.nd, finally, the man who used to call the prison the fitting domicile of 
the Roman commons shall now find that it was built for him also 
Wherefore, Appius Claudius, though thou shouldst appeal, again aud 
again, to me, the Tribune of the People, I will as often refer thee to 
1 Judge, on the charge of having sentenced a free person to slavery. 
And since thou wilt not go before a Judge, well knowing that Justine 
will condemn thee to death, I hereby order thee to be taken hence to 
prison, as one condemned. 



20. CANULEirS AGAINST PATRICIAN ARROGANCE 
Original Paraphrase from Livy. 

This is not the first time, Romans, that Patrician arrogance has 
denied to us the rights of a common humanity. What do we new 
demand ? First, the right of intermarriage ; and then, that the People 
may confer honors on whom they please. And why, in the name of 
Roman manhood, my countrymen, — why should these poor boons be 
refused ? Why, for claiming them, was I near being assaulted, just 
now, in the senate-house ? Will the city no longer stand, — will the 
empire be dissolved, — because we claim that Plebeians shall no longer 
be excluded from the Consulship ? Truly these Patricians will, by 
and by, begrudge us a participation in the light of day ; they will b^ 
indignant that we breathe the same air ; that we share with them the 
faculty of speech ; that we wear the forms of human beings ! But I 
cry them mercy. They tell us it is contrary to religion that a Ple- 
beian should be made Consul ! The ancient religion of Rome forbids 
it ! Ah ! verily ? How will they reconcile this pretence to the facts ? 
Though not admitted to the archives, nor to the commentaries of the 
Pontiffs, there are some notorious facts, which, in connnon with the 
rest of the world, we well know. We know that there were Kings 
before there were Consuls in Rome. We know that Consuls possess 
no prerogative, no dignity, not formerly inherent in Kings We know 
that Numa Pompilius was made King at Rome, who was not only 
not a Patrician, but not even a citizen ; that Lucius Tarquinius, who 
was not even of Italian extraction, was made King ; that Servius 
Tull/us, who was the son of a captive woman by an unknown father, 
Tas made King. And shall Plebeians, who formerly were not ex- 
cluded from the Throne, now, on the juggling plea of religious objec- 
tion, be del)arred from the Consulship ? 

Bit it is not encugh that the offices of the Sta+e are withheld from 
us. To keep pure their dainty blood, these Patricians would prevent, 
by law, all intermarriage of members of their order with Plebeians 
Ijould there be a moro marked indignity, a more humiliating insult 
llfanthis? Why not legislate against our living in the same neigh 



V12 . THJi STANDARD SPEAKER. 

oorhood, dwelling under the same skies, walking the same earth 1 
Ignominy not to be endured ! Was it for this we expelled Kings * 
Was it for this that we exchanged one master for many ? No . 
Let the rights we claim be admitted, or let the Patricians fight the 
battles of the State themselves. Let the public offices be open to 
all ; let every invidious law in regard to marriage be abolished ; or, 
oy the Gods of our fathers, let there be no levy of troops to achieve 
victories, in the benefits of which the People shall not most amply 
and equally partake ! 



a CATILINE TO HIS ARMY, NEAR FJESVUE.—Ben Jonson. Born,l&U; died 1*31 

A paraphrase of the celebrated speech which SalUist attributes to Catiline, previous to tltf 
Sngagemeut which ended in the rout of his army, and his own death. 

I NEVER yet knew, Soldiers, that in fight 
Words added virtue unto valiant men ; 
Or that a General's oration made 
An army fall or stand : but how much prowess, 
Habitual or natural, each man's breast 
Was owner of, so much in act it showed. 
Whom neither glory nor danger can excite, 
'T is vain to attempt with speech. 

Two armies wait us. Soldiers ; one from Piome 
The other fror the provinces of Gaul. 
The sword must now direct and cut our 
I only, therefore, wish you, when you strike, 
To have your valors and your souls about you ; 
And think you carry in your laboring hands 
The things you seek, — glory and liberty ! 
For by your swords the Fates must be instructed ! 
If we can give the blow, all will be safe ; 
We shall not want provision, nor supplies ; 
The colonies and fi-ee towns will lie open ; 
Where, if we yield to fear, expect no place, 
Nor friend, to shelter those whom their own fortune 
And ill-used arms have left without protection. 

You might have lived in servitude or exile, 
Or safe at Rome, depending on the great, 
But that you thought those things unfit for men ; 
And, in that thought, my friends, you then were valiant , 
F?r no man ever yet changed peace for war 
But he that meant to conquer. Hold that purpose. 
Meet the opposing army in that spirit. 
There 's more necessity you should be such. 
In fighting for yourselves, than they for others. 
He 's base who trusts his feet, whose hands are armed. 

Methinks I see Death and the Furies waiting 
What we will do, and all the Heaven at leisure 



MARTIAL AND POPULAR. 123 

For the groat spectacle. Draw, then, your sworda, 
And, should our destiny begrudge our virtue 
The honor of the day, let us take care 
To sell ourselves at such a price as ma> 
Undo the world to buy us ! 



22. SPARTACUS TO THE GLADIATORS AT CAPUA — E. Kellogg. 

It had been a day of triumph in Capua. LentCdus, returning vitl 
rictorious eagles, had amused the populace with the sports of the 
amphitheatre to an extent hitherto unknown even in that luxurioua 
■sity. The shouts of revelry had died away ; the roar of the lion had 
ceased ; the last loiterer had retired from the banquet ; and the lights 
m the palace of the victor were extinguished. The moon, piercing the 
tissue of fleecy clouds, silvered the dew-drops on the corslet of the 
Roman sentinel, and tipped the dark waters of the ^''ulturnus with a 
wavy, tremulous light. No sound was heard, save the last sob of some 
retiring wave, telling its story to the smooth pebbles of the beach • 
and then all was still as the breast when the spirit has departed. In 
the deep recesses of the amphitheatre, a band of gladiators were assem- 
bled ; their muscles still knotted with the agony of conflict, the foam 
upon their lips, the scowl of battle yet lingering on their brows ; when 
Spartiicus, starting forth from amid the throng, thus addressed them : 

"Ye call me chief; and ye do well to call him chief who, for 
twelve long years, has met upon the arena every shape of man or 
beast the broad empire of Rome could furnish, and who never yet 
lowered his arm. If there be one among you who can say, that ever, 
in public fight or private brawl, my actions did belie my tongue, let 
him stand forth, and say it. If there be three in all your company 
dare face me on the bloody sands, let them come on. And yet I was 
not always thus, — a hired butcher, a aivage chief of still more sav- 
age men ! My ancestors came from old Sparta, and settled among 
the vine-clad rocks and citron groves of Syrasella. My early life ran 
quiet as the brooks by which I sported ; and when, at noon, I gath- 
ered the sheep beneath the shade, and played u}:)on the shepherd's 
flute, there was a friend, the son of a neighbor, to join me in the 
pastime. We led our flocks to the same pasture, and partook together 
our rustic meal One evening, after the sheep were folded, and we 
were all seated beneath the myrtle which shaded our cottage, my 
gi'andsire, an old man, was telling of Marathon, and Leuctra ; and 
how, in ancient times, a little band of Spartans, in a defile cf the 
mcuntains, had withstood a whole army. I did not then know whac 
war was ; but my cheeks burned, I knew not why, and I clasped the 
knees of that venerable man, until my mother, parting the hair from 
off my forehead, kissed my throbbing temples, and bade nie go to rest, 
and think no more of those old tales and savage wars. That very 
night, the Romans landed on our coast. I saw the breast that had 
nourished me trampled by the hoof of the war-horse ; the bleeding 
br>dy of HiY father flung ami'lst the blazing rafters of our t'^wellins ' 



124 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

" To-day I killed a man in the arena ; and, when I broke his hn 
met-clasps, behold ! he was my friend. He knew me, smiled faintly 
gasped, and died ; — the same sweet smile upon his lips that T had 
marked, when, in adventurous boyhood, we scaled the lofty cliff to 
pluck the first ripe grapes, and bear them home in childish triumph . 
I told the praetor that the dead man had been my friend, generous and 
brave ; and I begged that I might bear away the body, to burn it 
on a funeral pile, and mourn over its ashes. Ay ! upon my knees, 
amid the dust and blood of the arena, I begged that poor boon, while ail 
the assembled maids and matrons, and the holy virgins they call Ves- 
tals, and the rabble, shouted in derision, deeming it rare sport, forsooth, 
to see Rome's fiercest gladiator turn pale and tremble at sight of that 
piece of bleeding clay ! And the praetor drew back as I were pollu- 
tion, and sternly said, — ' Let the carrion rot ; there are no noble 
men but Romans !' And so, M\ow-gladiators, must you, and so must 
I, die like dogs. 0, Rome ! Rome ! thou hast been a tender nurse 
to me. Ay ! thou hast given, to that poor, gentle, timid shepherd 
lad, who never knew a harsher tone than a flute-note, muscles of iron 
and a heart of flint ; taught him to drive the sword through plaited 
mail and links of rugged brass, and warm it in the marrow of his foe ; 
— to gaze into the glaring eye-balls of the fierce Numidian lion, even 
as a boy upon a laughing girl ! And he shall pay thee back, until the 
yellow Tiber is red as frothing wine, and in its deepest ooze thy life- 
blood lies curdled ! 

" Ye stand here now like giants, as ye are ! The strength of brass 
is in your toughened sinews ; but to-morrow some Roman Adonis, 
breathing sweet perfume from his curly locks, shall with his lily 
fingers pat your red brawn, and bet his sesterces upon your blood. 
Hark ! hear ye yon lion roaring in his den ? 'T is three days since he 
tasted flesh ; but to-morrow he shall break his fast upon yours, — and 
a dainty meal for him ye will be ! If ye are beasts, then stand here 
like fat oxen, waiting for the butcher's knife ! If ye are me7i, — fol- 
low me ! Strike down yon guard, gain the mountain passes, and there 
dc bloody work, as did your sires at Old Thermopylae ! Is Sparta dead ? 
Is the old Grecian spirit frozen in your veins, that you do crouch 
and cower like a belabored hound beneath his master's lash 0, com- 
rades ! warriors I Thracians ! — if we must fight, let us fight for our- 
neives ! If we must slaughter, let us slaughter our oppressors ! If 
we must die, let it be under the clear sky, by the bright waters, in 
wblt5, honorable battle ! " 



23. SPARTACUS TO THE ROMAN ENVOYS IN ETKUBIA — Originat 

Envoys of Rome, the poor camp of Spartacus is too much honored 
hj your presence. And does Rome stoop to parley with the escapeii 
gladiator, with the rebel ruffian, for whom heretofore no slight had 
been too scornfal ? You have come, with steel in your right hand, 
md with gold in your left. What heed we give the former, ask 



MARTIAL ND I'OPCLAR. 12^ 

Cossmias iisk ClauJius ; ask Varinlus ; ask the bones of your legions 
that fertilize the Lucanian plains. And for your gold — would ye 
knew wluit we do with that, — go ask the laborer, the trodden poor 
the helples^i and the hopeless, on our route ; ask all whom Eoman 
tyranny had crushed, or llonian avarice plundered. Ye have seen 
me before ; but ye did not then shun my glance as now. Ye have 
Been me in the arena, when I was Rome's pet ruffian, daily smeare-d 
with blood of men or beasts. One day — shall I forget it ever ? — 
ye were present ; — I had fought long and well. Exhausted as I was 
your munerator, your lord of the games, bethought him, it were an 
equal match to set against me a new man, younger and lighter than 
I, but fresh and valiant. V/ith Thracian sword and buckler, forth ha 
came, a beautiful defiance on his brow ! Bloody and brief the fight. 
"He has it!" cried the People; '■' hnhet ! hahet !''' But still ho 
lowered not his arm, until, at length, I held him, gashed and fainting, 
in my power. I looked around upon the Podium, where sat your 
Senators and men of State, to catch the signal of release, of mercy. 
But not a thumb was reversed. To crown your sport, the vanquished 
man must die ! Obedient brute that I was, I was about to slay him, 
when a few hurried words — rather a welcome to death than a plea 
for life — told me he was a Thracian. I stood transfixed. The 
arena vanished. I was in Thrace, upon my native hills ! The sword 
dropped from my hands. I raised the dying youth tenderly in my 
arms. 0, the magnanimity of Rome ! Your haughty leaders, en- 
raged at being cheated of their death-show, hissed their disappoint- 
ment, and shouted, " Kill ! " I heeded them as I would heed the 
howl of wol ves. Kill him ? — They might better have asked the 
mother to kill the babe, smiling in her face. Ah ! he was already 
wounded unto death ; and, amid the angry yells of the spectators, he? 
died. That night I was scourged for disol3edience. I shall not forget 
it. Should memory faU, there are scars here to quicken it. 

Well ; do not grow impatient. Some hours after, finding myself, 
with seventy fellow-gladiators, alone in the amphitheatre, the labormg 
thought broke forth in words. I said, — I know not what. I only 
know that, when I ceased, my comrades looked each other m the 
face — and then burst forth the simultaneous cry — "Lead on! lead 
on, Spartacus ! " Forth we rushed, — seized what rude weapons 
Chance threw in our way, and to the mountains speeded. There, 
day by day, our little baud increased. Disdainful Rome sent after us 
a handful of her troops, with a scourge for the slave Spartacus. 
riicir weapons soon were ours. She sent an army ; and down from 
old Vesuvius we poured, and slew three thousand. Now it was Spar- 
tacus the dreaded rebel ! A larger army, headed by the Praator, was 
sent, and routed ; then another still. And always I remembered thar 
fierce cry, riving my heart, and calling me to " kill ! " In three 
pitched battles, have I not obeyed it ? And now affrighted Rome 



(26 THE STANDARD SPEAKER 

Bends her two Consuls, and puts forth all her strength by .and and sea 
as if a Pyrrnus or a Hannibal were on her borders ! 

Envoys of Rome ! To Lentulus and Gelllus bear this message : 
" Their graves are measured ! " Look on that narrow stream, a silvei 
thread, high on the mountain's side ! Slenderly it winds, but soon is 
swelled by others meeting it, until a torrent, terrible and =-trong, it 
sweeps to tlie abyss, where all is ruin. So Spartacus comes on ! So 
swells his force, — small and despised at first, but now resistless ! 
On, on to Rome we come ! The gladiators come ! Let Opulence 
tremble in all his palaces ! Let Oppression shudder to think the 
oppressed may have their turn ! Let Cruelty turn pale at thought of 
redder hands than his ! ! we shall not forget Rome's many las. 
«ns. She shall not find her training was all wasted upon indocile 
pupils. Now, begone ! Prepare the Eteriml City for our games ' 



24. MARULLUS TO THE ROMAN VOVU'LA.C^. — Shakspeare. 

Wherefore rejoice that C^sar ccmes in triumph ? 
What conquest brings he home ? 
What tributaries follow him to Rome, 
To grace in captive bonds his chariot- wheels ? 
You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things ' 
0, you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome ! 
Knew ye not Pompey ? Many a time and oft 
Have you climbed up to walls and battlements, 
To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops, 
Your infants in your arms, and there have sat 
The life-long day, with patient expectation, 
To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome ; 
And when you saw his chariot but appear, 
Have you not made an universal shout, 
That Tiber trembled underneath her banks 
To hear the replication of your sounds, 
Made in her concave shores ? 
And do you now put on your best attire ? 
And do you now cull out a holiday ? 
And do you noiv strew flowers in his way, 
That comes in triumph over Pompey 's blood ? 
Begone ! Run to your houses, fall upon your knees 
Pray to the Gods to intermit the plague 
That needs must li^ht on this ingratitude ! 



J5. MARCUS BRUTUS ON THE DEATH OF Cm&k^. — Shakspeare. 

Romans, countrymen, and lovers ! Hear me for my cause ; and b» 
nlent, that you may hear. Believe me for mine honor ; and bavs 
respect to mine honor, that you may believe. Censure me in youi 
visdom and a^'ake your senses, that you may the better judge.. If 



MARTIAL ANl* POPULAR. SHAKSPEARR 127 

there be any in this assembly, — any clear friend of Cnesar's, - to him 1 
Bay, that Brutus' love to Caesar was not less than his. If, then, that 
friend demand why Brutus rose against Caesar, this is niy answer : 
Not that I loved Cajsar less, but that I loved Rome more. Had yon 
rather Caesar were living, and die all slaves, than that Caesar were 
dead, to live all freemen ? As Ctesar loved me, I weep for him ; 84 
he was fortunate, I rejoice at it ; as he was valiant, I honor him but 
ss he was ambitious, I slew him. There are tears, for his love ; jcy, 
f3r his fortune ; honor, for his valor ; and death, for his ambition ! 
Who is here so base, that woiild be a bondman ? If any, speak ; fo? 
him have I otFended. Who is here so rude, that would nut be a 
Roman ? If any, speak ; for him have I ofi'ended. Who is here so 
vile that will not love his countiy ? If any, speak ; for him have I 
offended. I pause for a reply. 

None ? — Then none have I offended. I have done no more to 
Caesar than you shall do to Brutus. The question of his death is 
enrolled in the Capitol ; his glory not extenuated, wherein he was 
worthy ; nor his offences enforced, for which he suffered death. 

Here comes his body, mourned by IMark Antony ; who, though he 
had no hand in his death, shall receive the benefit of his dying, a place 
in the commonwealth : As which of you shall not ? With this I 
depart : That, as I slew my best lover for the good of Rome, I have 
the same dagger ibr myself, when it shall please my country to need 
oy death. 

26 HARK ANTONY TO THE PEOPLE, ON CESAR'S DEATH.— Shakspeaf^ 

Friends, Romans, Countrymen ! lend me your ears 
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. 
The evil that men do lives after them ; 
The good is oft interred with their bones : 
So let it be with Cfesar ! Noble Brutus 
Hath told you Caesar was ambitious : — 
If it were so, it was a grievous fault ; 
And grievously hath Caesar answered it ! 
Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest — 
For Brutus is an honorable man ! 
So are they all ! all honorable men, — 
Come I to speak in Ccesar's funeral. 

He was my friend, faithful and just to me, — 

But Brutus says he was ambitious ; 

And Brutus is an honorable man ! 

He hath brought many captives home to Romev 

Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill : 

Did this in Caesar seem ambitious ? 

When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept 

Ambition should be made of sterner stuff! — 

Yet Brutus Bays he was ambitious , 



12^ THE STANDARD SPEAKEB. 

And Bratus is an honorable man ! 

You all dici see, that, on the Lupercal, 

I thrice presented him a kingly crown, 

Which he did thrice refuse : was this amHtion I — 

Yet Brutus says he was ambitious ; 

And sure he is an honorable man ! 

I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke ; 

But here I am to speak what I do know. 

You all did love him once ; not without cause : 

What cause withholds you, then, to mourn for him I 

judgment ! thou art fled to brutish beasts, 

And men have lost their reason ! Bear with me : 

My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar ; 

And I must pause till it come back to me. — 

But yesterday, the! word of Caesar might 
Have stood against the world ; — now lies he there, 
And none so poor to do him reverence ! 

masters ! if I were disposed to stir 
Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 

1 should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong, 
Who, you all know, are honorable men ! — 

I will not do them wrong : I rather choose 
To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you, 
Than I will wrong such honorable men ! — 
But here 's a parchment with the seal of Caesar, — 
I foand it in his closet, — 't is his will ! 
Let but the commons hear this testament, — 
V/hich, pardon me, I do not mean to read, — 
And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds 
And dip their napkins in his sacred blood ; 
Yea, beg a hair of hhn for memory, 
And, dying, mention it within their wills, 
Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy, 
Unto their issue ! 

If you have tears, prepare to shed them now 
You all do know this mantle : I remember 
Tlie first time ever Csesar put it on : 
'T was on a summer's evening, in his tent, — 
That day he overcame the Nervii ! — 
Look ! in this place, ran Cassius' dagger through ', 
See what a rent the envious Casca made ! — 
Through this, — the well-beloved Brutus stabbed 
And, as he plucked his cursed steel away, 
Mark how the blood of Caesar followed it ! 
As rushing out of doors, to be resolved 
If Brutus so unkindly knocked, or no ! 
For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel 



MARTIAL AxND POPULAR. — allLTON. 129 

Judge, ye Gods, how dearly Caesar loved him ! 

This was the most unkindest cut of all ! 

tor when the noble Caesar saw him stab, 

Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, 

Qui-te van([uishcd him. Then burst his mighty heart 

And, in his mantle muffiing up his face 

Even at the base of Pompey's statue, — 

Which all tlie while ran blood ! — great Caesar fell ' 

0, what a fall was there, my countrymen ! 

Then I, and you, and all of us, fell down ; 

Whilst bloody treason flourished over us ! 

0, now you weep ; and I perceive you feel 

The dint of pity : these are gracious drops ! 

Kind souls ! what ! weep you when you but behold 

Our Cassar's vesture wounded ? — look you here ! 

Here is himself. — marred, as you see, by traitors ! 

Good friends I sweet friends ! let me not stir you up 
To such a sudden flood of mutiny I 
They that have done this deed are honorable ! 
What private griefs they have, alas ! I know not,. 
That made tliera do it : they are wise and honorable, 
And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. 
I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts : 
I am no orator, as Brutus is ; 
But, as you know me all, a plain, blunt man, 
That love my friend, — and that they know full well 
That gave me public leave to speak of him, — 
For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, 
Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, 
To stir men's blood : I only speak right on. 
I tell you that which you yourselves do know ; 
Show you sweet (Jassar's wounds, — poor, poor, dumb mo^itJiS 
And bid them speak for me. But, were I Brutus, 
And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony 
Would rufiie up your spirits, and put a tongue 
In every wound of Caesar, that should move 
r^e stones of Rome to rise and mutiny ! 



27. MOLOCH TO THE FALLEN ANOELS. —Milton. 

My sentence is for open war : of wiles, 
More unexpert, I boast not : them let those 
Contrive who need, or when they need ; not now. 
For, while they sit contriving, shall the rest, 
Millions that stand in arms, and longing wait 
The signal to ascend, sit lingering here 
Heaven's fugitives, and for their dwelling-plaoe 



131 



THH STAIJDARD SPEAKER. 



Accept this dark opprobrious den of shame, 

l^he prison of His tyranny who reigns 

By our delay ? No, — let us rather choose, 

Ai'Hied with hell-flames and fury, all at once 

O'er Heaven's high towers to force resistless way^ 

Turning our tortures into horrid arms 

Against the Torturer ; when to meet the noise 

Of His almighty engine He shall hear 

Infernal thunder ; and, for lightning, see 

Black fire and horror shot with equal rage 

Among His angels ; and His Throne itself 

Mixed with Tartarean sulphur and strange fire. 

His own invented torments. But perhaps 

The way seems difficult and steep, to scale 

With upright wing against a higher foe. 

Let such bethink them, if the sleepy drench 

Of that forgetful lake benumb not still, 

That in our proper motion we ascend 

Up to our native seat : descent and fall 

To us is adverse. Who but felt of late, 

When the fierce Foe hung on our broken rear 

Insulting, and pursued us through the deep, 

With what compulsion and laborious flight 

V/e sank thus low ? The ascent is easy, then : — 

The event is feared : — should we again provoke 

Our Stronger, some worse way His wrath may find 

To Qur destruction ; if there be in hell 

Fear to be worse destroyed. — What can be worse 

Than to dwell here, driven out from bliss, condemnsdl 

In this abhorred deep, to utter woe. 

Where pain of unextinguishable fire 

Must exercise us without hope of end. 

The vassals of His anger, when the scourge 

Inexorable and the torturing hour 

Call us to penance ? l^Iore destroyed than thus, 

We should be (|uite abolished, and expire. 

What fear we, then ? What doubt we to incens® 

His utmost ire ? which, to the height enraged, 

Will either quite consume us, and reduce 

To nothing this essential, — happier far. 

Than miserable to have eternal being; — 

Or, if our substance be indeed divine. 

And cannot cease to be, we are at worst. 

On this side nothing : and by proof we tee^ 

Our power sufficient to disturb His Heavea 

And with perpetual inroads to alarm. 

Though inaccessible, His fatal Thrcne : 

Which, if not victory is yet revenge 



MARTIAL AND POPCLAR. MILTON. 



«. BKLIAL-S ADDRESS, OPPOSIXG WAR. — MiVton 



131 



I SHOULD be much for open war, Peers, 
As not behind in hate, if what was urged, 
Main rea.son to persuade iuunediate war, 
Did not di.ssuade nie most, and seem to cast 
Ominous conjecture on the whole success ; — 
^V^hen he, who most excels in fact of arms, 
In what he counsels, and in what excels, 
Mistriistful, grounds his courage on despair 
And utter dissolution, as the scope 
Of all his aim, after some dire revenge ! — 
First, what revenge ? — The towers of Heaven are filled 
With armed watch, that render all access 
Impregnable : oft on the bordering deep 
Encamp their legions : or, with obscure wing, 
Scout far and wide into the realm of night. 
Scorning surprise. — Or, could we break our way 
By force, and, at our heels, all hell should rise. 
With blackest insurrection, to confound 
Heaven's purest light ; yet our great Enemy, 
All incorruptible, would, on His throne. 
Sit unpolluted ; and the ethereal mould, 
Incapable of stain, would soon expel 
Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire. 
Victorious. Thus repulsed, our final hope 
Is flat despair : we must exasperate 
The Almighty Victor to spend all His rage, 
And that must end us ; that must be our cure, — 
To be no more. — Sad cure ! — for who would lose, 
Though full of pain, this intellectual being, 
Those thoughts that wander through eternity, — 
To perish rather, swallowed up and lost 
In the wide womb of uncreated night, 
Devoid of sense and motion ? — And who knows, 
Let this be good, whether our angry Foe 
Can give it, or will ever ? How He can, 
Is f'oubtfid ; that He never will, is sure. 
"W )11 He, so wise, let loose at once His ire 
Belike through impotence, or unaware. 
To give His enemies their wish, and end 
Them in His anger, whom His anger sav3S 
To punish endless ? — " Wherefore cease we, then ? 
Say they, who counsel war : " we are decreed, 
Reserved, and destined to eternal woe : 
Whatever doing, what can we suffer more. 
What can wt. suffer worse ? " Is this, then, wcret. 
Thus sitting, thus consulting, ttus in arms ^ 



1 32 TEE STANDARD SPEAKEll. 

W hat when we fled amain, pursued and struck 
With Heaven's afflicting thunder, and besought 
The deep to shelter us ? this hell then seemed 
A refuge from those wounds ! or when we lay 
Chained on the burning lake ? ihat sure was worse. 
What if the breath that kindled those grim fires, 
Awaked, should blow them into seven-fold rage, 
And plunge us in the flames ? or, from above, 
Should intermitted vengeance arm again 
His red right hand to plague us ? what, if all 
Her stores were opened, and this firmament 
Of hell should spout her cataracts of fii'e. 
Impendent horrors, threatening hideous fall 
One daj upon our heads? while we, perhaps 
Designing or exhorting glorious war. 
Caught in a fiery tempest, shall be hurled, 
Each on his rock transfixed, the sport and prey 
Of racking whirlwinds ; or forever sunk 
Under yon boiling ocean, wrapped in chains ; 
There U) converse with everlasting groans, 
Um-espited, unpitied, unreprieved, 
Ages of hopeless end ? — this would be worse. 
War, therefore, open or concealed, alike 
My voice dissuades. 



29. THE DEATH OF LEONIDAS. — iJtj;. George Croly. 

It was the wild midnight, — a storm was in the sky, 
The lightning gave its light, and the thunder echoed by ; 
The torrent swept the glen, the ocean lashed the shore, — 
Then rose the Spartan men, to make their bed in gore ! 
Swift from, the deluged ground, three hundred took the shield 
Then, silent, gathered round the leader of the field. 
He spoke no warrior-word, he bade no trumpet blow ; 
But the signal thunder roared, and they rushed upon the foe. 
The fiery element, showed, with one mighty gleam. 
Rampart and flag and tent, like the spectres of a dream. 
All up the mountain side, all down the woody vale, 
Ah by the rolling tide, waved the Persian banners pale. 

And King Leonidas, among the slumbering band, 

Sprang foremost from the pass, like the lightning's livmg brand 

Then double darkness fell, and the forest ceased to moan, 

But there came a clash of steel, and a distant dying groan. 

Anon, a trumpet blew, and a fiery sheet burst high, 

That o'er the midnight threw a blood-red canopy. 

A host glared on the hill ; a host glared by the bay ; 

But the Greeks rushed onward still like leopards in their play 



MiARTIAL AND POPULAR. — CROLT. L%'6 

The air -waf all a yell, and the earth was all a flame, 
Where the Spartan's bloody steel on the silken turbans came 
And still the Greek rashed on, beneath the fiery fold, 
Till, like a rising sun, shone Xerxes' tent of gold 

rhey found a royal feast, his midnight banquet, there ! 
And the treasures of the East lay beneath the Doric spear 
Tlien sat to the repast the bravest of the brave ! 
Tliat feast must be their last, that spot must be their grave 

They pledged old Sparta's name in cups of Syi'ian wine, 
x\nd the warrior's deathless fame was sung in strains divine. 
They took the rose-wreathed lyres from eunuch and from slave, 
And taught the languid wires the sounds that Freedom gave. 

But now the morning star crowned (Eta's twilight brow, 
And the Persian horn of war from the hill began to blow ; 
Up rose the glorious rank, to Greece one cup poured high. 
Then, hand in hand, they drank, — "To Iramortality ! " 

Fear on King Xerxes fell, when, like spirits from the tomb, 
With shout and triuiipet-knell, he saw the warriors come ; 
But down swept all his power, with chariot and with charge ; 
Down poured the arrowy shower, till sank the Dorian targe. 

They marched within the tent, with all their strength unstrung ; 
To Greece one look they sent, then on high their torches flung ; 
To Heaven the blaze uprolled, like a mighty altar-fire ; 
And the Persians' gems and gold were the Grecians' funeral pyre 

Their King sat on his Throne, his Captains by his side, 
While the flame rushed roaring on, and their pssan loud replied ! 
Thus fought the Greek of old ! Thus will he fight again ! 
Shall not the self-same mould bring forth the self-same men ? 



K CATILINE TO THE GALLIC CONSPIRATORS. — Original Adaptation f om Crolf. 

Men of Gaul ! 
What would you give for Freedom? — 
For Freedom, if it stood before your eyes ; 
For Freedom, if it rushed to your embrace ; 
For Freedom, if its sword were ready drawn 
To hew your chains off' 

Ye would give death or life ! Then marvel not 
That I am here — that Catiline would join you ! — 
The great Patrician ? — Yes — an hour ago — 
But now the rebel ; Rome's eternal foe. 
And yoicr sworn friend ! My desperate wrong 's my pledge 
There 's not in Rome, — no — not uix)n the earth. 
A man so \rronged. The very ground I tread 



iM THE STAWDAKD, SPEAKEB. 

Is grudged me. — Chieftains ! ere the moon be dowu^ 

My land will be the Senate's spoil ; my life, 

The n-ark of the first villain that will stab 

For lucre. — But there 's a time at hand ! — Gaze ou I 

If I had thought you cowards, I might have come 

And told you lies. But you have now the thing 

I am ; ' — Rome's enemy, — and fixed as fate 

To you and yours forever ! 

The State is weak as dust. 

Rome 's broken, helpless, heart-sick, Vengeance sits 

Above her, like a vulture o'er a corpse, 

Soon to be tasted. Time, and dull decay. 

Have let the waters round her pillar's foot ; 

And it must fall. Her boasted strength 's a ghost 

Fea,rful to dastards ; — yet, to trenchant swords, - 

Thin as the passing air ! A single blow. 

In this diseased and crumbling state of Rome, 

Would break your chains like stubble. 

But " ye 've no swords " ! 

Have you no ploughshares, scythes ? 

When men are brave, the sickle is a spear ! 

Must Freedom pine till the slow armorer 

Gilds her caparison, and sends her out 

To glitter and play antics in the sun ? 

Let hearts be what they ought, — the naked earth 

Will be their magazine ; — the rocks — the trees — 

Nay, there 's no idle and unnoted thing, 

But, in the hand of Valor, will out-thrust 

The spear, and make the mail a mockery ! 



31. CATILINE'S LAST HARANGUE TO HIS ARMY.-/d 

Brave comrades ! all is ruined ! I disdain 
To hide the truth from you. The die is throws. .' 
And now, let each that wishes for long life 
Put up his sword, and kneel for peace to Rome. 
Ye are all free to go. — What ! no man stirs • 
Not one ! — a soldier's spirit in you all ? 
Give me your hands ! (This moisture in mi/ eyea 
Is womanish — 't will pass.) My noble hearts ! 
Well have you chosen to die ! For, in my mind, 
The gi'ave Is better than o'erburthened life ; — 
Better the quick release of glorious wounds. 
Than the eternal taunts of galling tongues ; — 
Better the spear-head quivering in the heart, 
Than daily struggle against Fortune's curse ; — 
Better, in manhood's muscle and high blood, 
To leap the gulf, than totter to its edge 



MAUTIAl AND POPULAR, — BULAVER I Si 

Id poverty, dull pain, and base decay. — 

Once more, I say, — are ye resolved ? 

Then, each man to his tent, and take the arms 

That he would love to die in, — for, tins liotir, 

We storm the Consul's camp. — A last farewell ! 

When next we meet, we '11 have no time to look, 

How parting clouds a soldier's oountenance : — 

Few as we are, we '11 rouse them with a peal 

That shall shake Rome ! — 

Now to your cohorts' heads ; — the word 's — Revenge 



THE BARD'S SUMMONS TO WAR.— 5jr Edward Bulwer Lytton 

Leaning against a broken parapet, 

Alone with Thought, mused Caradoc the Bard, 
When a voice smote him, and he turned and met 

A gaze, prophetic in its sad regard. 
Beside him, solemn with his hundred years, 
Spoke the arch hierarch of the Cymrian seers : — 

" In vain through yon dull stupor of despair 

Sound Geraint's trump and Owaine's battle-cry ; 

In vain where yon rude clamor storms the air, 
The Council Chiefs stem maddening mutiny ; 

From Trystan's mail the lion heart is gone. 

And on the breach stands Lancelot alone ! 

" Drivelling the wise, and impotent the strong ! 

Fast into night the life of Freedom dies ; 
Awake, Light-Bringer, wake, bright soul of song ! 

Kindler, reviver, re-creator, rise! 
Crown thy great mission with thy parting breath, 
And teach to hosts the Bard's disdain of death ! " 

" So be it, voice from Heaven," the Bard replied 
" Some grateful tears may yet embalm my name ; 

Ever for human love my youth hath sighed. 
And human love's divinest form is fame. 

Is the dream erring ? shall the song remain ? 

Say, can one Poet ever live in vain ? " 

Then rose the Bard, and smilingly unstrtmg 
His harp of ivory sheen, from shoulders broad 

Kissing the hand that doomed his life, he sprung 
Light from the shattered wall, — and swiftly strode 

Where, herdlike huddled in the central space, 

Drooped, in dull pause, the cowering populace. 

Slow, pitying, soft it glides, — the liquid lay, — 
Sad with the burthen of the Singer's soul ; 



ISb THE STANDARD 3PEAKEK. 

Tnto the heart it coiled its lulling way , 

Wave upon wave the golden river stole ; 
Hushed to his feet forgetful Famine crept, 
And Woe, reviving, veiled the eyes that wept. 
Then stern, and harsh, clashed the ascending 

Telling of ills more dismal yet in store ; 
Rough with the iron of the grinding chain, 

Dire with the curse of slavery evermore ; 
Wild shrieks from lips beloved pale warriors hear, 
Her child's last death-groan rends the mother's ear 
Then trembling hands instinctive griped the swords , 

And men unquiet sought each other's eyes ; — 
Loud into pomp sonorous swell the chords ! 

Like linked legions march the melodies ! 
Till the full rapture swept the Bard along, 
And o'er the listeners rushed the storm of song ! 
And the Dead spoke ! From cairns and kingly graves, 

The Heroes called ; — and Saints from earliest shrinea 
And the Land spoke ! — Mellifluous river-waves ; 

Dim forests awful with the roar of pines ; 
Mysterious caves, from legend-haunted deeps; 
And torrents flashing from untrodden steeps ; — 

The Land of Freedom called upon the Free ! 

All Nature spoke ; the clarions of the wind • 
The organ swell of the majestic sea ; 

The choral stars ; the Universal Mind 
Spoke, like the voice from which the world began, 
" No chain for Nature and the Soul of Man ! " 
As leaps the war-fire on the beacon hills. 

Leapt in each heart the lofty flame divine ; 
As into sunlight flash the molten rills, 

Flashed the glad claymores, lightening line on line ; 
From cloud to cloud as thunder speeds along, 
From rank to rank rushed forth the choral song. 

Woman and child — all caught the fire of men ; 

To its own Heaven that Alleluia rang ; 
Life to the spectres had returned again ; 

And from the grave an armed Nation sprang ! 



CARADOC, THE BARD TO THE CYMRIANS. — Sir E. Bulwer Lytton 
No Cymrian bard, by the primitive law, could bear weapons. 

Hare to -the measured march ! — The Saxons come ! 

The sound earth quails beneath the hollow tread ' 
Your fathers rushed upon the swords of Rome 

And climbed her war-ships, when the Caesar fled 



KARTIAL AND POPULAR. — KN0WLE3. 137 

rhe Saxons come ! why wait within the wall ? 
They scale the mountain : — let its torrents fall ! 

Mark, ye have swords, and shields, and armor, yb 

No mail defends the Cymriau Child of Song ; 
But where the warrior, there the liard shall be ! 

All holds of glory to the bard belong ! 
His realm extends wherever gotUike strife 
Spurns the base death, and wins immortal life 
Unarmed he goes — his guard the shield of all. 

Where he bounds foremost on the Saxon spear ! 
Unarmed he goes, that, falling, even his fall 

Shall bring no shame, and shall bequeath no fear S 
Does the song cease ? — avenge it by the deed, 
And make the sepulchre — a Nation freed ! 



1 ALFRED THE GREAT TO HIS UEN. —Oris^inal Adaptation from KnovlM 

My friends, oui* country must be free ! The land 
Is never lost that has a son to right her, — 
And here are troops of sons, and loyal ones ! 
Strong in her children should a mother be : 
Shall ours be helpless, that has sons like us ? 
God save our native land, whoever pays 
The ransom that redeems her ! Now, what wait we ? — 
For Alfred's word to move upon the foe ? 
Upon him, then ! Now think ye on the things 
You most do love ! Husbands and fathers, on ■> 
Their wives and children ; lovers, on their beloved; 
And all, upon their country ! When you use 
Your weapons, think on the beseeching eyes, 
To whet them, could have lent you tears for water ' 
0, now be men, or never ! From your hearths 
Thrust the unbidden feet, that from their nooks 
Dro\e forth your aged sires — your wives and babes ! 
The couches, your fair-handed daughters used 
To spread, let not the vaunting stranger press, 
Weary from six)iling you ! Your roofs, that hear 
The wanton riot of the intruding guest, 
That mocks their masters, — clear them for the sake 
Of the manhood to which all that 's precious clings 
Else perishes. The land that bore you — ! 
Do honor to her ! Let her glory in 
Your breeding ! Rescue her ! Revenge her, — or 
Ne'er call her mother more ! Come on, my friends 
And, where you take your stand upon the field. 
However you advance, resolve on this. 



138 THE STANLARD SPEAKEK 

'fhat you. tvill ne'er recede, while from the tougues 
Of age, and womanhood, and infancy, 
The helplessness, whose safety in you lies, 
Invokes you to be strong ! Come on ! Come on ' 
I '11 bring you to the foe ! And when you meet himj 
Strike hard ! Strike home ! Strike while a dying blow 
Ls in an arm ! Strike till you 're free, or fall 1 



35. RIENZI TO THE ROMANS. ~ Mary Russell Mil ford. 

Friends ! 
I come not here to talk. Ye know too well 
The story of our thraldom. We are slaves ! 
The bright sun rises to his course, and lights 
A race of slaves ! He sets, and his last beam 
Falls on a slave : not such as, swept along 
By the full tide of power, the conqueror leads 
To crimson glory and undying fame, — 
But case, ignoble slaves ! — slaves to a horde 
Of petty tyrants, feudal despots ; lords, 
Rich in some dozen paltry villages ; 
Strong in some hundred spearmen ; only great 
In that strange spell — a name ! Each horn-, dark fraud 
Or open ra^^^ne, or protected murder, 
Cry out against them. But this very day. 
An honest man, my neighbor, — there he stands, — 
Was struck — struck like a dog, by one who wore 
The badge of Urslni ! because, forsooth, 
He tossed not high his ready cap in air, 
Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts, 
At sight of that great ruffian ! Be we men. 
And suffer such dishonor ? Men, and wash not 
The stain away in blood ? Such shames are commcn, 
I have known deeper wrongs. I, that speak to ye 
I had a brother once, a gracious boy, 
Full of all gentleness, of calmest hope. 
Of sweet and (juiet joy ; there was the look 
Of Heaven upon his face, which linniers give 
To the beloved disciple. How I loved 
That gracious boy ! Younger by fifteen years 
Brother at once and son I He left my side, 
A summer bloom on his fair cheeks — a smUt 
Parting his innocent lips. In one short houi, 
The pretty, harmless boy was slain ! I saw 
The corse, the mangled corse, and then I cried 
For vengeance ! Rouse, ye Romans ! Rouse, ye slavw 
Have ye brave sons ? — Look in the next fierce brawl 
To see them die ' Have ye fair daughters ? — Look 



Martial and popular.- moxtcomert. '% 

To see them live, torn from your arms, distained, 
Dishonored ; and, if ye dare call for justice. 
Be answei-ed by the lash ! Yet, tliis is Rome. 
Ttuit sate on her seven hills, and from her throne 
Of beauty ruled the world ! Yet, we are liomaas 
Why, ill that elder day, to be a Roman 
Was greater than a King ! And once again — 
Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to the tread 
Of either Brutus ! — once again I swear 
The Eternal City shall be free ! 



THE PATRIOT'S PASS-WORD. 



-Jamex Montgomery 



TTie noble voluntary death nf tlie Switzpi- Winknncd is nnmr-itfiv ,i ..„..;k .^ ■ .u <• „ 
Ing verses. In the bittle .( Shnni, ,r|, n ,.(',,•,' •' ^'^'-"'•"[•l,v 'leM'nhed m the follow. 
tag that there was no otlicr mrai,Vun,,v,ldn- u. ' vi' , ,' i ,'•' '"■"''>'^-Pa"''"'. ferceiv. 
by gathering as many of their s,,..ar. as he coul.l .m- ,sV\7 ' •' 1!,^ ,',',T.n . I iw ,'i'''''''"' '"^' 
passage for his fellow-conihatMn s, „-ho, with hammers an, h .t' ^ V/ .v^*^"',' ? 

men-^t-ams, and won the victory. hamme,. and hateha., Ixewed down the m^^ 

" Make way for liberty ! " he cried, - 
Made way for liberty, and died ! 

In arms the Austrian phalanx stood, 

A living wall, a human wood ; 

Impregnable their front appears, 

xill horrent with projected spears. 

Opposed to these, a hovering band 

Contended for their fother-land , 

Peasants, whose new-found strength had broke 

From manly necks the ignoble yoke ; 

Marshalled once more at Freedom's call, 

They came to conquer or to fall. 

And now the work' of life and death 

Hung on the passing of a breath ; 

The fire of conflict burned within • 

The battle trembled to begin ; 

Yet, while the Austrians held theiy ground. 

Point for a.ssault was nowhere found ; 

Where'er the impatient Switzers gazed, 

The unbroken line of lances blazed ; 

That line 't wore suicide to meet. 

And perish at their tyrants' feet. 

How could they rest within their graves, 

To leave their homes the haunts of slaves ? 

Would they not feel their children tread, 

"With clanking chains, above their head ? 

It must not be ; this day, this hour, 

Annihilates the invader's power ! 

All Switzerland is in the field, 

She will not fly ; she cannot yield • 



140 THH STANDARD SPEAKER. 

She must not fall ; her bettei fate 
Here gives her an immortal date. 
Few were the numbers she could boa»6 
But every freeman was a host, 
And felt as 't were a secret known 
That one should turn the scale alone 
While each unto himself was he 
On whose sole arm hung Victory, 

It did depend on one, indeed ; 

Behold him, — Arnold Winkelried ! 

There sounds not to the trump of Fame 

The echo of a nobler name. 

Unmarked, he stood amid the throng, 

In rumination deep and long. 

Till you might see, with sudden grace, 

The very thought come o'er his face; 

And, by the motion of his form, 

Anticipate the bursting storm ; 

And, by the uplifting of his brow, 

Tell where the bolt would strike, and how. 

But 't was no sooner thought than done, — ■ 
The field was in a moment won ! 
" Make way for liberty ! " he cried, 
Then ran, with arms extended wide, 
As if his dearest friend to clasp ; 
Ten spears he swept within his grasp. 
" Make way for liberty ! " he cried ; 
Their keen points crossed from side to side ; 
He bowed amongst them, like a tree, 
And thus made way for liberty. 

Swift to the breach his comrades fly, — 

" Make way for liberty ! " they cry, 

And through the Austrian phalanx dart, 

As rushed the spears through Arnold's heart 

While, instantaneous as his fall, 

Ilout, ruin, panic, seized them all . 

An earthquake could not overthrow 

A city with a surer blow. 

Thus Switzerland again was free 

Thus Death made way for liberty I 

W. BICHABD TO THE PRINCES OF THE CRUSADE.— Sir ^<r«erSco« B HU , i 18SI 

And is it even so ? And are our brethren at such pains to note ths 
■jifirmities of our natural temper, and the rough precipitance of our zeal, 
which may have sometimes urged us to issue commands when ther< 
was little time to hold council ? I could not have thought that ';fteucea. 



MARTIAL AND POFDU.R. SHAKSPBaRE. .'41 

-usual and uni)renic(litated, like mine, could And such deep loot in the 
hearts of ray allies in this most holy cause, that, for my sake, they 
should withdraw their hand from the plough when the fuiTOw was 
near the end ; for my sake, turn aside from the direct path to Jeru- 
salem, which their swords have opened. I vainly thought that ray 
8m.all services might have outweighed my rash errors; that, if it 
were remembered that I pressed to the van in an assault, it would not 
be forgotten that I was ever the last in the retreat ; that, if I ele- 
vated my banner upon conquered fields of battle, it was all the advan- 
tage I sought, while others were dividing the spoil. I may have 
called the conquered city by ray name, but it was to others that I 
yielded the dominion. If I have been headstrong in urging bold 
counsels, I have not, mcthinks, spared my own blood, or my people's, 
in carrying them into as bold execution ; or, if 1 have, in the hurry 
of march or battle, assumed a command over the soldiers of others, 
such have ever been treated as my own, when my wealth pui-chased 
the provisions and medicines which their own sovereigns could not 
procure. 

But it shames me to remind you of what all but myself seem to have 
forgotten. Let us rather look forward to our future measures ; and, 
believe me, brethren, you shall not find the pride, or the wrath, or the 
ambition of Richard, a stumbling-block of offence in the path to 
which religion and glory summon you, as with the trumpet of an 
archangel ! 0, no, no ! never would I survive the thought that my 
frailties and infirmities had been the means to sever this goodly fellow- 
ship of assembled princes. I would cut off my left hand with my 
right, could my doing so attest my sincerity, I will yield up, volun- 
Uirily, all right to command in the host even mine own liege subjects. 
They shall be led by such sovereigns as you may nominate ; and their 
King, ever but too apt to exchange the leader's baton for the adven- 
turer's lance, will serve under the banner of Beauseant among the 
Templars, — ay, or under that of Austria, if Austria will name a 
brave man to lead his forces. Or, if ye are yom-selves a- weary of this 
war, and feel your armor chafe your tender bodies, leave but with 
.Richard some ten or fifteen thousand of your soldiers to work out the 
uccomplishnient of your vow ; and, when Zion is won, — when Zion 
is won, — we will write \ipon her gates, tiot the n;ime of Richard 
Plantagenet, but of those generous Princes who intrusted him with 
bhe means of conquest ! 

38 THE EARL OF RICHMOND TO HIS AB.UY. — Shakspeart^ 

More than I have said, loving countrymea 
The leisure and enforcement of the time 
Forbids to dwell on. Yet remember this : - 
God, and our good cause, fight upon our side , 
The prayers of holy saints, and wronged souls, 
Like high-reai-ed bulwarks, stand before our faces 



I4S THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

Ricliard except, those whom we fight against 

Had rather have us win than him they follow. 

For what is he they follow ? Truly, gentlemen. 

A bloody tyrant ' and a homicide ; 

One raised in blood, and one in blood established; 

One that made means to come by what he hath, 

And slaughtered those that were the means to help hiifi 

A base, foul stone, made precious by the foil 

Of England's chair, where he is falsely set ; 

One that hath ever been God's enemy. 

Then, if you fight against God's enemy, 

God will, in justice, guard you as his soldiers : 

If you do sweat to put a tyrant down, 

You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain ; 

If you do fight against your country's foes, 

Your country's fat shall pay your pains the hire 

If you do fight in safeguard of your wives, 

Your wives shall welcome home the conquerors ; 

If you do free your children from the sword, 

Your children's children quit it in your age. 

Then, in the name of God and all these rights, 

Advance your standards, draw your willing swords. 

For me, the ransom of my bold attempt 

Shall be this cold corpse on the earth's cold face ; 

But, if I thrive, the gain of my attempt, 

The least of you shall share his part thereof. 

Sound drums and trumpets, boldly and cheerfully : 

God, and St. George ! Richmond and victory ! 



39. HENRY V. TO HIS SGLDIEKS.— Shakspeare. 

What 's he that wishes for more men from England ? 
My cousin Westmoreland ? No, my fair cousin ; 
If we are marked to die, we are enow 
To do our country loss ; and if to live. 
The fewer men, the greater share of honor. 
I pray thee do not wish for one man more. 
By Jove, I am not covetous of gold ; 
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost ; 
It yearns me not if men my garments wear ; — 
Such outward things dwell not in my desires : 
But if it be a sin to covet honor, 
I am the most offending soul alive. 
No, 'faith, my Lord, wish not a man from England : 
I would not lose, methinks, so great an honor 
As only one man more would share from me, 
For the best \ ope I have. ! do not wish one more 



MARTIAL ANE POPULAR. — MACAU. 

Rather, proclaim it, Westmoreland, through mj hoft. 

That he, which hath no stomach to this fight. 

Let him dciiart; his passport shal. be made, 

And crowns tor convoy put into his purse • 

We would not die in that man's company 

That fears liis fellowsliip to die with us. 

This day is called the feast of Crispian 
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, 
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named, 
And rouse him at the name of Crispian • 
He that outlives this day, and sees old age. 
Will 3'early on the vigil feast his neighbors. 
And say — to-morrow is Saint Crispian! 
Then will he strip his sleeve, and show his scars. 
Old men forget ; yet all shall be forgot 
But he '11 remember, with advantages, 
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names. — » 
Familiar in his mouth as household words, — 
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter, 
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster, — 
Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered. 
This story shall the good man teach his son : 
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by. 
From this day to the ending of the world, 
But we in it shall be remembered ; 
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers ; 
For he, to-day that sheds his blood with me, 
Shall be my brother : be he ne'er so vile. 
This day shall gentle his condition. 
And gentlemen in Englaixl, now a-bod, 
Shall think themselves accursed they wei-e not here ; 
And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speaks 
That fought with us upon St. Grispian's day. 



H'd 



40. THE BATTLE OP VfUY. — T. B- Macaulay. 

?fow glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are ! 

And glory to our Sovereign Liege, King Henry of Navarre . 

Now let there be the merry sound of music and the dance, 

riirough thy corn-fields green, and sunny vales, pleasant lana of 

France ! 
And <:hou, Piochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters, 
.Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters ; 
As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy. 
For cold and stiff and still are they who wrought thy walls annoy 
Hurrah . hurrah ! a single field hath turned the chance of war * 
Hurrah ! hurrah ' for Ivry and King Henry of Navarre' ' 



144 THE STANDAKI) SPEAiiEE, 

. how our hearts were beating, when, at the dawn of day. 
We saw the army of the League drawn out in long array ; 
With all its priest-led citizens, and all its .-ebel peers, 
And Appanzel's stout inftintry, and Egmont's Flemish spears I 
There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our land 1 
And dark Mayenue was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand ; 
And, as we looked on them, we thought of Seine's empurpled flooci 
And good Joligni's hoary hair all dabbled with his blood ; 
And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate of war, 
To fight for His own holy Name, and Henry of Navarre. 

The King has come to marshal us, in all his armor drest, 

And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest . 

He looked upon his People, and a tear was in his eye ; 

He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high. 

Right gi'aciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing to wing, 

Down all our line, in deafening shout, "God save our lord, the King! 

" And if my standard-bearer fall, — as fall full well he may, 

For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray, — 

Press where ye see my white plume shine, amid the ranks of war. 

And be your driflamme, to-day, the helmet of Navarre." 

Hurrah ! the foes are moving ! Hark to the mingled din 
Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin ' 
The fiery Duke is pricking fast across Saint Andre's plain, 
With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne. 
Now, by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France, 
Charge for the golden lilies now, upon them with the lance ! 
A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest, 
A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white crest 
And in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a guiding star. 
Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre. 

Now, God be praised, the day is ours ! Mayenne hath turned his roin 
D'Aumale hath cried for quarter — the Flemish Count is slain; 
Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Bi'^gy gale ; 
The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven mail 
And then we thought on vengeance, and all along our van 
" Remember St. Bartholomew I " was passed from man to man , 
But out spake gentle Henry, then, — " No Frenchman is my foe ; 
Down, down with every foreigner ! but let your brethren go." 
was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war, 
As our sovereign lord, King Henry, the soldier of Navarre .' 

Ho ! maidens of Vienna ! Ho ! matrons of Lucerne ! 

Weep, weep and rend ycur hair for those who never shall rsturn . 

Ho ! Philip, send for charity thy Mexican pistoles. 

That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen's soui* 



MARTIAZ, AND POPULAR. TAYLOR. 145 

He gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms be bright . 
Ho burghers of St. Genevieve, keep watch and ward to-night ! 
For our God liath crushed the tyrant, our God hath raised the slave 
And mocked the counsel of the wise and the valor of the bruve. 
Thvo gldry to His holy name, from whom all glories are ! 
kni /?lory to our sovereign lord, King Henry of Navarre ! 



41. PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE TO TJIE MEN OF GHENT. — //enry Taylor 

Sirs, ye have heard these knights discourse to you 
Of your ill fortunes, telling on their fingers 
The worthy leaders ye have lately lost. 
True, they were worthy men, most gallant chiefs ; 
And ill would it become us to make light 
Of the great loss we Suiffer by their fall 
They died like heroes ; for no recreant step 
Had e'er dishonored them, no stain of fear, 
No base despair, no cowardly recoil. 
• They had the hearts of freemen to the last 
And the free blood that bounded in their veins 
Was shed for freedom with a liberal joy. 
But had they guessed, or could they but have dreamed 
The great examples which they died to show 
Should fall so flat, should shine so fruitless here, 
That men should say, " For libei-ty these died, 
Wherefore let us be slaves," — had they thought this, 
0, then, with what an agony of shame, 
Their Washing faces bui-ied in the dust, 
Had their great spirits parted hence for Heaven ' 

What ! shall we teach our ch.roniclers henceforth 
To write, that in five bodies were contained 
The sole brave hearts of Ghent ! which five defunct, 
The heartless town, by brainless counsel led. 
Delivered up her keys, stript off her robes, 
And so with all humility besought 
Her haughty Lord that he would scourge her ligbtij 
It shall not bo — iio, verily ! for now. 
Thus looking on you as ye stand before me, 
Mine eye can single out full many a man 
Who lacks but opportunity to shine 
As great and glorious as the chiefs that fell. 

But, lo ! the Earl is " mercifully minded "! 
And, surely, if we, rather than revenge 
The slaughter of our bravest, ci'y them shame, 
And fall upon our knees, and say we 've siundd, 
Chen will my Lord the P]arl have mercy on xm. 
lind pardon us our strilce for liberty ! 
10 



146 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

0, Sirs ! look round you, lest ye be deceived 
Forgiveness may be spoken with the tongue, 
Forgi'veness may be written with the pen, 
But think not that the parchment and mouth pardoi 
Will e'er eject old hatreds from the heart. 
There 's that betwixt you been which men remember 
Till they forget themselves, till all 's forgot, — 
Till the deep sleep falls on them in that bed 
From which no morrow's mischief rouses them. 
There 's that betwixt you been which you yoursCiVes 
Should ye forget, would then not be yourselves ■, 
For must it not be thought some base men's souls 
Have ta'en the seats of yours and turned you out, 
If, in the coldness of a craven heart. 
Ye should forgive this bloody-minded man 
For ail his black and murderous monstrous crimes ! 



fin TYLER'S ADDRESS TO THE KINQ. — Robert Southey. B. 11U; <t. (£jg 

King of England, 
Petitioning for pity is most weak, — 
The sovereign People ought to demand justice. 
I lead them here against the Lord's anointed, 
Because his Ministers have made him odious ! 
His yoke is heavy, and his burden grievous. 
Why do ye carry on this fatal war, 
To force upon the French a King they hate ; 
Tearing our young men from their peaceful homes, 
Forcing his hard-earned fruits from the honest peasant 
Distressing us to desolate our neighbors ? 
Why is this ruinous poll-tax imposed. 
But to support your Court's extravagance. 
And your mad title to the Crown of France ? 
Shall we sit tamely down beneath these evils, 
Petitioning for pity ? King of England, 
Why are we sold like cattle in your markets, 
Deprived of every privilege of man ? 
Must we lie tamely at our tyrant's feet, 
And, like your spaniels, lick the hand that beats us 
You sit at ease in your gay palaces : 
The costly banquet courts your appetite ; 
Sweet music soothes your slumbers : we, the while. 
Scarce by hard toil can earn a little food. 
And sleep scarce sheltered from the cold night wind 
Whilst your wild projects wrest the little froii. us 
Which might have cheered the wintry hours of age ' 

The Parliament forever asks more money j 



MAKTiAL AND POPULAR. WOLFE. 147 

We toil and sweat for money for your taxes ; 
Where is the benefit, — what good reap we 
From all the counsels of your government ? 
rhink you that ive should quarrel with the French * 
What boots to us your victories, your gloi-y ? 
We pay, we fight, — you profit at your ease ' 
Do you not claim the country as your own ? 
Do you not call the venison of the forest, 
The birds of Heaven, your own ? — prohibiting us, 
Even though in want of food, to seize the prey 
Which Nature offers? King! is all this just? 
Think you we do not feel the wrongs we suffer ? 
The hour of retribution is at hand, 
And tyrants tremble, — mark me, King of England 



43. THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. — rAomos Campbell. 

luR bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lowered. 

And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky ; 
And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered, 

The weary to sleep, and th% wounded to die. 
When reposing that night on my pallet of straw, 

By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the slain. 
At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw, 

And thrice ere the morning I dreamed it again. 

Methought, from the battle-field's dreadful array, 

Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track ; 
Twas autumn, — and sunshine arose on the way 

To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back. 
I flew to the pleasant fields, traversed so oft 

In life's morning march, when my bosom was young 
1 heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, 

And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung. 

Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore 

From my home and my weeping friends never to part ; 
My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er, 

And my wife sobbed aloud in her fulness of heart. 
' Stay, stay with us, — rest, thou art weary and worn " ! 

And fain was their war-broken soldier to sta y, — 
But sorrow returned with the dawning of mofnT ' 

And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away. 



K TO THE AKMV BEFORE QUKBEC, 1759. — Gpn. /Fo(/e. Bom, VT-iS:, died, VtW 

I CONORATULATE you, my brave countrymen and fellow-soldiers, oi 
the spirit and success with which you have executed this important 
part of our enterprise. The formidable Heights of Abraham are now 



l48 THE STANDARD SPEAKElt. 

sarmounted ; and the city of Quebec, the object of all our toils, jow 
stands in full view before us. A perfidious enemy, who have darea tc 
exasperate you by their cruelties, but not to oppose you on equflj 
ground, are now constrained to face you on the open plain, without 
ramparts or intrenchments to shelter them. 

You know too well the forces which compose their army to dread 
tbeir superior numbers. A few regular troops from old France, weak" 
ened by hunger and sickness, who, when fresh, were unable to with- 
stand the British soldiers, are their General's chief dependence. Those 
numerous companies of Canadians, insolent, mutinous, unsteady, and 
ill-disciplined, have exercised his utmost skill to keep them together to 
this time ; and, as soon as their irregular ardor is damped by one firm 
fire, they will instantly turn their backs, and give you no further 
trouble but in the pursuit. As for those savage tribes of Indians, 
whose horrid yells in the forests have struck many a bold heart witt 
afii-ight, terrible as they are with a tomahawk and scalping-knife to a 
flying and prostrate foe, you have experienced how little their ferocity is 
to be dreaded by resolute men upon fair and open ground : you can 
now only consider them as the just objects of a severe revenge for the 
unhappy fate of many slaughtereci countrymen. 

This day puts it into your power to terminate the fatigues of a siega 
which has so long employed your courage and patience. Possessed 
with a full confidence of the certain success which British valor must 
gain over such enemies, I have led you up these steep and dangerous 
rocks, only solicitous to show you the foe within your reach. The 
impossibility of a retreat makes no difference in the situation of mar 
resolved to conquer or die : and, believe me, ray friends, if your con- 
quest could be bought with the blood of your General, he would most 
ebserfullj^ resign a life which he has long devoted to his country, 



4& IHE AMERICAN ELAQ. ~J. R. Drake Born, 1795 ; died, 1830 

When Freedom, from her mojantain height, 

Unfurled her standard to the air, 
She tore the azure robe of night, 

And set the stars of glory there. 
She mingled with its gorgeous dies 
The milky baldric of the skies. 
And striped its pure celestial white. 
With streakings of the moruing light 
Then, from his mansion in the sun. 
She called her eagle bearer down. 
And gave into his mighty hand 
The symbol of her chosen land. 
Majestic monarch of the cloud; 

Who rear'st aloft thy regal form. 
To hear the tempest trumpings loud 



MARTIAL AND POPULAR. — DRAKE. 

And see tlie lightning lances driven, 
When strive the warriors of the storm, 

And rolls the thunder-drum of Heaven, ~ 
Child of the Sun ! to thee 't is given 

To guard the banner of the free ; 
To hover in the sult)hur smoke. 
To ward away the battle-stroke ; 
And bid its blendings shine afar, 
Like rainbows on the cloud of war, 

The harbingers of \'ictory ! 

Flag of the brave ! thy folds shall fly, 
The sign of hope and triumph high. 
When speaks the signal trumpet tone, 
And the long line comes gleaming on, — 
Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet. 
Has dimmed the glistening bayonet, — 
Each soldier's eye shall brightly turn 
To where thy sky-born glories burn ; 
And, as his springing steps advance, 
Catch war and vengeance from the glance. 
And, when the cannon-mouthings loud 
Heave in wild wreaths the battle shroud, 
And gory sabres rise and fall 
Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall, 
Then shall thy meteor glances glow. 

And cowering foes shall fall beneath 
Each gallant arm that strikes below 

That lovely messenger of death. 
Flag of the seas ! on ocean's wave 
Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave 
When Death, careering on the gale, 
Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail, 
And friglited waves rush wildly back, 
Before the broadside's reeling rack, 
Each dying wanderer of the sea 
Shall look at once to Heaven and thee ; 
And smile to see thy splendors fly, 
In triumph, o'er his closing eye. 

Flag of the free heart's hope and home 

By angel hands to Valor given ! 
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, 

And all thy hues were born in Heaven 
Forever float that standard sheet ! 

Where breathes the foe but falls before ns, 
With Freedom's soil beneath our feet, 

And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us ' 



149 



150 THE STANDARD SPEARER 

16. TO THE AMERICAN TROOPS BEFORE THE BATTLE OF LONG ISLAND, im • 
General George Washington. Born, 1732 ; dit i, 1799 

The time is now near at hand which must probably determiii« 
whether Americans are to be freemen or slaves ; whether they are to 
have any property they can call their own ; whether tlieir houses and 
farms are to be pillaged and destroyed, and themselves consigned to & 
state of wretchedness from which no human eiforts will deliver them. 
The fate of unborn millions will now depend, under God, on the cour 
age and conduct of this army. Our cruel and unrelenting enemj 
leaves us only the choice of a brave resistance, or the most abject sub- 
mission. We have, therefore, to resolve to conquer or to die. 

Our own, our country's honor, calls upon us for a vigorous and 
manly exertion ; and if we now shamefully fail, we shall become 
infamous to the whole world. Let us, then, rely on the goodness of 
our cause, and the aid of the Supreme Being, in whose hands victory 
is, to animate and encourage us to great and noble actions. The eyes 
of all our countrymen are now upon us ; and we shall have their bless- 
ings and praises, if happily we are the instruments of saving them 
from the tyranny meditated against them. Let us, therefore, animate 
and encourage each other, and show the whole world that a freeman 
contending for liberty on his own ground is superior to any slavish 
mercenary on earth. 

Liberty, property, life and honor, are all at stake. Upon your 
courage and conduct rest the hopes of our bleeding and insulted 
country. Our wives, children and parents, expect safety from U3 
only ; and they have every reason to believe that Heaven will crown 
with success so just a cause. The enemy will endeavor to intimidate 
by show and appearance ; but remember they have been repulsed on 
various occasions by a few brave Americans. Their cause is bad, — 
their men are conscious of it ; and, if opposed with firmness and cool- 
ness on their first onset, with our advantage of works, and knowledge 
of the ground, the victory is most assuredly ours. Every good soldier 
will be silent and attentive, wait for orders, and reserve his fira 
until he is sure of doing execution. 



«. TO THE ARMY OF ITALY, MAY 15, Tm.— Napoleon Bonaparte. B. 1769 ;rf. 1821 
Original Translation. 

Soldiers 1 You have precipitated yourselves like a torrent fi'om the 
Apennines. You have overwhelmed or swept before you all that 
opposed your march. Piedmont, deliver ^d fi'om Austrian oppression 
has returned to her natural sentiments of peace und friendship towarda 
France. Milan is yours ; and over all Lombardy floats the flag of 
the Republic. To your generosity only, do the Dukes of Parma and 
of Modena now owe theii- political existence. The army which proudljr 
threatened you finds no remaining barrier of defence against youi 
wurage. The Po, the Tessino, the Adda, could not stop you a single 



MARTIAL AND i'Ol'OLAK. LAMAftllNE. 151 

day. Thof.v. vaunted ramparts of Italy proved insufficient, jou trav 
ersed them as rapidly as you did the Apennines, Successea an 
numerous and brilliant have carried joy to the heart of your country 
Your representatives have decreed a festival, to be celebrated in all 
the communes of the Republic, in honor of your victories. There will 
your fathers, mothers, wives, sisters, all who hold you dear, rejoicjc 
over your triumphsi, and boast that you belong to them. 

Yes, Soldiers, you have done much ; but much still remains for you 
to do. Shall it be said of us that we knew how to conquer, but not 
to profit by victory ? Shall posterity reproach us with having found 
a Capua in Lombardy ? Nay, fellow-soldiers ! I see you already 
eager to cry " to arms ! " Inaction fatigues you ; and days lost to 
glory are to you days lost to happiness. Let us, then, begone ! "\Ye 
have yet many forced marches to make ; enemies to vanquish ; laurels 
to gather ; and injuries to avenge ! Let those who have sharpened 
the poniards of civil war in France, who have pusillanimously assassi- 
nated our Ministers, who have burned our vessels at Toulon, — lei 
them now tremble ! The hour of vengeance has knoUed ! 

But let not the People be disquieted. We are the friends of everj 
People : and more especially of the descendants of the Brutuses, the 
Scioios, and other great men to whom we look as bright exemplars. To 
reestablish the Capitol ; to place there with honor the statues of the 
heroes who made it memorable ; to rouse the Roman People, un- 
nerved by many centuries of oppression, — such will be some of the 
fi-uits of our victories. They will constitute an epoch for posterity. 
To you. Soldiers, will belong the immortal honor of redeeming tha 
fairest portion of Europe. The French People, free and respected by 
the whole world, shall give to Europe a glorious peace, which shaL 
indemnify it for all the sacrifices which it has borne, the last six 
years. Then, by your own firesides you shall repose ; and your fellow- 
citizens, when they point out any one of you, shall say : " He belonged 
to the army of Italy ! " 



48. LORD BTRON TO THE GREEKS. — Alphonse De Lamartine. 
Original Translation. 

A STRANGER to your clime, men of Greece ! — born under a sun 
less pure, of an ancestry less renowned, than yours, — I feel how 
unworthy is the offering of the life I bring you — you, who number 
kings, heroes and demi-gods, among your progenitors. But, through- 
cut the world, wherever the lustre of your history has shed its rays, 
—wherever the heart of man has thrilled at the thought of glory, or 
softened at the mention of misfortune, — Greece may count a friend, 
dnd her children an avenger. I come not here in the vain hope to 
stimulate the courage of men already roused and resolved. One sola 
cry remained for you, and you have uttered it. Yom' language ha.^ 
oow one only word — Liberty' AJh ! what other invocation ueed 



f52 THE STANDARD SPEAKER 

the men of Sparta — of Athens — to bid them rise ? fliese blua 
Heavens these mountains, these waters, — here are your orators ■— 
here is your present Demosthenes ! Wherever the eye can range, 
wherever the feet can tread, your consecrated s:)il recounts a" tri. 
umph 01 a glorious death. From Leuctra to Marathon, every ineb 
of ground responds to you — cries to you — for vengeance ! liborty 
glory ! virtue ! country ! These voices, which tyr'ants cannot stifle 
demand, — not words, but steel. 'T is here ! Receive it! Arm . Let 
the thirsting earth at length be refreshed with the blood of her op» 
pressors ! What sound more awakening to the brave than the clank 
of his country's fetters ? Should the sword ever tremble in your 
grasn, remember yesterday ! think of to-morrow ! 

For myself, in return for the alliance which I bring you, I ask but 
the recompense of an honorable grave. I ask but the privilege of 
shedding my blood with you, in your sacred cause. I ask but to 
know, in dying, that I too belong to Greece — to liberty ! Yes, might 
the Pilgrim hope that, on the pillars of a new Parthenon, his name 
might, one day, be inscribed, — or, that in the nobler mausoleum of 
youi* hearts his memory might be cherished, — he were well content. 
The tomb where Freedom weeps can never have been prematureli/ 
reached by its inmate. Such martyrdom is blessed, indeed. What 
higier fortune can ambition covet? 



49. SURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE, 1809 —Rev Charles Wolfe. 

Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, 
As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; 

Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot 
O'er the grave where our hero we buried. 

We buried him darkly, at dead of night, 

The sods with our bayonets turning ; 
l3y the struggling moonbeams' misty light, 

And the lantern dimly burning. 

No useless coffin enclosed his breast, 

Nor in sheet, nor in shroud, we wound him ; 

But he lay, like a warrior taking his rest, 
With his martial cloak aromid him. 

Few and short were the prayers we said. 

And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; 
"But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead 

And we bitterly thought of the morrow. 

We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed, 

And smoothed down his lonely pillow. 
That the foe and the stranger wou'd tread o'er his head 

An(? we far awa/ on the billow ! 



MARTIAL AND POPULAR. — CAMPBELL 158 

Lightly they '11 talk of the spirit that 'a gone, 

And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ; 
But little he 'li reck, if they let hiui sleep on, 

In the grave where a Britoo has laid him ! 

But half of our heavy task was done, 

When the clock struck the hour for retiring 

And we heard the distant and random pan. 
That the foe was sullenly Si-ing. 

Slowly and sadly we laid him down, 

From the field of his fame, fresh and gory ! 

We carved not a line, we raised not a stone, 
But we left him — alone with his glory ! 



M. THK BATTLE OV HOHENLTNDEN, 1800. — Thornas CampbeU 

On Linden when the sun was low, 
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow 
At (d dark as winter was the flow 
Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 

But Linden saw another sight, 
When the drum beat at dead of night, 
Conunanding fires of death to light 
The darkness of her scenery. 

By torch and trumpet fast arrayed. 
Each warrior drew his battle-blade, 
And furious every charger neighed. 
To join the dreadful revelry. 

Then shook the hills with thunder riven, 
Then rushed the steeds to battle driven, 
And louder than the bolts of Heaven 
Far flashed the red artillery. 

And redder yet those fires shall glow 
On Linden's hills of blood-stained snow , 
And darker yet shall be the flow 
Of Iser rolling rapidly. 

"T is morn ; but scarce you lurid sun 
Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun. 
While furious Frank and fiery Hun 

Shout in their sulphurous canopy. 

The combat deepens. On, ye brave 
Who rush to glory, or the grave ! 
Wav^, Munich, all thy banners wave 

Ard charge with all thy chivilry ' 



154 THE STANDARD SPEAKEK. 

Ah ! few shall part where many meet 
The snow shall be their winding-sheet. 
And every turf beneath their feet 

ShaJll be a soldier's sepulchre 



61 SONG OF THE GREEKS IS2-2. — Thomas CampoeU. 

Again to the battle, Achaians ! 

Our hearts bid the tyrants defiance , 
Oui land, — the first garden of Liberty's tree, — 
It has been, and shall i/ef be, the land of the free 

For the cross of our faith is replanted 

The pale dying crescent is daunted, 
And we inarch that the foot-prints of 3Iahomet's sjaves 
May be washed out in blood from our forefathei-s' gravefc 

Their spirits are hovering o'er us, 

And the sword shall to glory restore us. 

Ah ! what though no succor advances, 
Nor Christendom's chivalrous lances 
Are stretched ia our aid ? — Be the combat our owp ' 
And we 'li perisii or conquer more proudly alone ; 
For we Ve sworn by our country's assiiulters, 
Sy the TiTgins they 've dragged from our altars, 
JBy our nias-sacred patriots, our children in chains, 
By our hejx)es of old, and their blood iu our veins, 
That, living, we iciU be victorious, 
Or that, dying, our deatlis shall be glorious. 

A breath of submission we breathe not : 
The sword that we 've drawn we will sheathe aot 
Its scabbard is left where our martyrs are laid, 
And the vengeance of ages has whetted its blade. 
Earth may hide, waves engidf, fire consume us. 
But they s/tall not to slavery doom us : 
If they rule, it shall be o'er our ashes and graves : — 
But we 've smote them already with fire on the waves, 
And new triumphs on land are before us ; — 
To the charge ! — Heaven's banner is o'er us. 

Tliis day — shall ye blush for its story ? 

Or brighten your lives with its glory ? — 
Our women — 0, say, shall they shriek in despair, 
Or embrace us from conquest, with wreatlis iu their hair ? 

AccLU'sed may his memory blacken. 

If a coward there be that would slacken 
Till we 've trampled the turban, and shown ourselves wortij 
Being sprmig from, and uamed for, the ffi^^-iike of earth 



HARTIAL AXr POPCLAK.- CAMPBELL. 155 

Strike home ! — and the world shall revert as 
As heroes descended fixmi heroes. 

Old Greece lightens up with emoticsa ! 
Her inland?, her isles of the ocean, 
Faues rebuilt, and tuir towns, sh:ill with jubilee ring, 
Atd the Nine skdl new hallow their Helicon's spring. 
Our hecirths shall be kintUed in gladness, 
That were cold, and extinguished iu sadness 
Whilst our maidens shall danc-e with their white waving UDQt 
Singing joy to the brave that dolivervd their charms, — 
A\'hen the blood of von Mussulman cravens 
Shall have crimsoned the beaks of our ravens ! 



52. FALL OF WARSAW, lTi4. — r/ic^m;!.* Cjmyi^eiL 

I SACR£i> Truth ! thy triumph ceased a while. 
And Hope, thy sistec, ceased with thee to smile. 
When Itsigiuvi Oppression poured to Northern wars 
Her whiskered [KUidours and her fieice aussaxs 
Waved her divad standard to the breeze of morn. 
Pealed her loud drum, and twanged her trumpet hom : 
Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van, 
Pres;iging wrath to Poland — and to man I 

Warsiuv's last champion from her heights surveyed 
Wide o'er the fields a waste of ruin laid — 
O He-aven I he cried, my bleeiling country save! 
Is there no hand on high to shield the brave ? 
Yet, though destruction sweep these lovely plains. 
Rise, fellow-ineu 1 our country yet ivniaius I 
By that dread name, we wave the sword on high, 
Aid swear for her to live I — with her to die ! 

He said ; and on the nmipart heights arrayed 
His trusty warriors, tew, but undismayed: 
Firm paced and slow, a horrid front they form, 
Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm ; 
Low, nuu-muring sounds along their bannei-s fly, — 
" Revenge, or death ! " — the watchword and reply ; 
Then pealed the notes, omnipotent to charm. 
And the loud tocsin tolled their last alarm ! 

In vain, alas ! in vain, ye g^dlant few ' 
From rank to rank your volleyed thunder flew ,— 
! bloo^iiost pictiu-e in the book of Time, 
Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime ; 
Found not a generous friend, a pit\-ing fbc, 
Strength in her arms, nor meroy in her woe ! 
Dropped from her nerveless grasp the shattered speu 



56 THE STANDARD SPEAKER 

Closed her .bright eye, and curbed her high career 
Hope for a season, bade the world farewell, 
And Freedom shrieked, as Kosciusko fell ! 

righteous Heaven ! ere Freedom found a grave. 
Why slept the sword, omnipotent to save ? 
Where was thine arm, vengeance ! where thy rod, 
That smote the foes of Sion and of God ? 

Departed spirits of the mighty dead ! 
Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled ! 
Friends of the world ! restore your swords to man, 
Fight in his sacred cause, and lead the van ! 
Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood atone, 
And make her arm puissant as your own ! 
! once ag-ain to Freedom's cause return 
The patriot Tell, — the Bruce of Bannockburn 

Yes, thy proud lords, unpitied land ! shall see 
That man hath yet a soul, — and dare be free ' 
A little while, along thy saddening plains, 
The starless night of Desolation reigns ; 
Truth shall restore the light by Nature given, 
And, like Prometheus, bring the fire of Heaven ! 
Prone to the dust Oppression shall be h-.xrled, 
Her name, her nature, withered from the world ' 



63 MARCO BQZZARIS, ~ Fitz-Greene HaUeck. 

ila-co Bozzaris, the Epaaiconaas of modern Greece, fell in a night attack upon the Turkiat 
samp at Laspi, the site of the aaiient Plattea, August 30, 1823, and expired in tte xoment of 
»2ctory. His last words were : — '- Td die for liberty is a pleasure, and not a paiix. ' ' 

At midnight, in his guarded tent, 

The Turk was dreaming of the hour 
When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent. 

Should tremble at his power : 
In dreams through camp and court he bore 
The trophies of a conqueror ; 

In dreams his song of triumph heard. ; 
Then wore his monarch's signet ring, — 
Then pressed that monarch's throne, — a king 
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing 

As Eden's garden bird. 

An hour passed on, — the Turk awoke • 

That bright dream was his last ; 
He woke, to hear his sentries shriek, — 
" To arms ! they come ! the Greek ! th* Greek ' 
He woke, to die midst flame and smok^ 
And shout, and groan, and sabre-stroke, 

And death -shots falling thick ancj fast 



MARll^L AND POPOLAR. — HALLECK. 15' 

As lightnings from the mountain cloud , 
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, 

Bozzaris cheer his band : — 
" Strike — till the last armed foe expires ! 
Strike — for jour altars and your fires ! 
Strike — for the green graves of your siros . 

God, and your native land '• " 

They fought, like brave men, long and well ; 

They piled the ground with Moslem slain , 
Tliey conquered ; but Bozzaris fell, 

Bleeding at every vein. 
His few survaving comrades saw 
His smile, when rang their proud hurrah. 

And the red field was won ; 
Then saw in death his eyelids close, 
Calmly, as to a night's repose, 

Like flowers at set of sun. 

Come to the bridal chamber, Death ! 

Come to the mother's when she feels 
For the first time her first-born's breath ; 

Come when the blessed seals 
That close the pestilence are broke, 
And crowded cities wail its stroke ; 
Come in Consumption's ghastly form, 
The earthquake shock, the ocean storm ; 
Come when the heart beats high and warm, 

With banquet song, and dance, and wine, ---^ 
And thou art terrible : the tear. 
The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier 
And all we know, or dream, or fear. 

Of agony, are thine. 

But to the hero, when his sword 

Has won the battle fbr the free. 
Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word, 
And in its hollow tones are heard 

The thanks of millions yet to be. 
Bozzaris ! with the storied brave 

Greece nurtured in her glory's time. 
Rest thee : there is no prouder grave, 

Even in her own proud clime. 

We tell thy doom without a sigh , 
For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame'e, 
One of the few, the immortal 

That were not born to die ! 



15 TEEB STANDARD SPEAKER. 

54 THE SEMINOLE'S DEFIANCE. — G. TV. Patten 

Blaze, with your serried columns ! I will not bend the knee ; 
The shackle ye'er again shall bind the arm which now is free ! 
I 've mailed it with the thunder, when the tempest muttered low , 
And Tvhere it falls, ye well may dread the lightning of its blow. 
I 've scared you in the city ; I 've scalped you on the plain ; 
Go, count your chosen where they fell beneath my leaden rain ! 
I scorn your proifered treaty ; the pale-face I defy ; 
Revenge is stamped upon my spear, and " blood " my battle-cry ! 

Some strike for hope of booty ; some to defend their all ; — 

I battle for the joy I have to see the white man fall. 

I love, among the wounded, to hear his dying moan, 

And catch, while chanting at his side, the music of his groan. 

Ye 've trailed me through the forest ; ye 've tracked me o'er the stream 

And struggling through the everglade your bristling bayonets gleam 

But I stand as should the warrior, with his rifle and his spear ; 

The scalp of vengeance still is red, and warns you, — " Come not here ! 

Think ye to find my homestead ? — I gave it to the fire. 

My tawny household do ye seek ? — I am a childless sire. 

But, should ye crave life's nourishment, enough I have, and good ; 

I live on hate, — 't is all my bread ; yet light is not my food. 

I loathe you with my bosom ! I scorn you with mine eye ! 

And I '11 tamit you with my latest breath, and fight you till I die ! 

[ ne'er will ask for quarter, and I ne'er will be your slave; 

But I '11 swim the sea of slaughter till I sink beneath the wave ! 



5&. BATTLE HYMN. — Theodore Korner. Born, IMl ; fell in battle, 1813. 

Father of earth and Heaven ! I call thy name ! 

Round me the smoke and shout of battle roll ; 
My eyes are dazzled with the rustling flame ; 

Father ! sustain an untried soldier's soul. 

Or life, or death, whatever be the goal 
That crowns or closes round the struggling hour, 

Thou knowest, if ever from my spirit stole 
One deeper prayer, 't was that no cloud might lower 
On my young fame ! — hear ! God of eternal power ! 

Now for the fight ! Now for the cannon-peal ! 

Forward, — through blood, and toil, and cloud, and fir* 
Glorious the shout, the shock, the crash of steel, 

The volley's roll, the rocket's blasting spire ! 

They shake ! like broken waves their squares retire ! 
On them, hussars ! Now give them rein and heel ; 

Think of the orphaned child, the murdered sire : 
Earth cries for blood ! In thunder on them wheel ! 
This honr to Europe's fate shall set the triumph-seal 



PART THIRD. 



SENATORIAL. 



1. AGAINST VaiUP.— Demosthenes. Original Translation. 

Demosthenes, vhose claim to the title of the greatest of orators has not yet beec Eiipprseclod, 
iras born at Athe as, about 380 B. C. At the age of seventeen he determined to study ebqucnce, 
Jjcugh his lungs were weak, his articulation imperfect, and his gestures awkward. These 
impediments heoi'ercurae by perseverance. When the encroachments of I'hilip, King of Mace- 
ilon, alarmed the Greciiui states, Demosthenes roused his countrymen to resistance by a series 
of harangues, so cclebrateii, that similar orations are, to this day, often styled Philippics. The 
hiflueiice wliich lie acquired he employed for the good of his country. The charges that have 
come down of his cowardice and venality are believed to be calumnious. It is related of Demos- 
theDL-s, tliat, while studying Oratory, he spoke with pebbles in his mouth, to cm-e himself of 
stammering ; that he repeated verses of the poets as he ran up hill, to strengthen his voice, 
and that lie declaimed on the sea-shore, to accustom himself to the tumult of a popular assem- 
bly. He died o22 B. C. The speeches of Demosthenes were delivered before select, not acci- 
dental, assemliiages of tlie people ; and they have here been placed under the Senatorial head, 
as partaking mostly of that style of Oratory. The first four extracts, from the first, third, 
eighth and ninth Philijipics, which follow, together with the extract from .S)5chines on the 
Crown, are chiefly translated from Stiivenart's excellent and very spiiited version. 

Begin, men of Athens, by not despairing of your situation, how. 
ever deplorable it may seem ; for the very cause of your formei 
reverses offers the best encouragement for the future. And how . 
Zour utter supineness, Athenians, has brought about your disasters. 
If these had come upon you in spite of your most strenuous exertions, 
then only might all hopes of an amelioration in your aifairs be aban- 
doned. When, then,- my countrymen ! when will you do your 
duty ? What wait you ? Truly, an event ! or else, by Jupiter, neces- 
sity ! But how can we construe otherwise what has already occurred ? 
For myself, I can conceive of no necessity more urgent to free souls 
than the pressure of dishonor. Tell me, is it your wish to go about 
the public places, here and there, continually, asking, " What is there 
new ? " Ah ! what should tliere be new, if not that a Macedonian 
could conquer Athens, and lord it over Greece ? " Is Philip dead ? " 
" No, by Jupiter ! he is sick." Dead or sick, what matters it to you? 
If he were to die, and your vigilance were to continue slack as now. 
fou would cause a new Philip to rise up at once, — since this one owes 
bis aggrandizement less to his own power than to your inertness ! 

It is a mutter of astonishment to me, Athenians, that none of you 
are aroused either to reflection or to anger, in beholding a war, begun 
for the chastisement of Philip, degenerate at last into a war of defence 
against him. And it is evident that he will not stop even yet, unless 
we bar his progress. But where, it is asked, shall we mako a desconi 



160 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

Lei, us but attack. 0, Athenians, and the war itself will disclose the 
enemy's weak point. But, if we tarry at home, lazily listening to 
Bpeech-makers, in their emulous abuse of one another, never, — no. 
never, shall we accomplish a single necessary step ! 
-, Some among you, retailing the news, affirm that Philip is plotting 
with Lacedasmon the ruin of Thebes and the dismemberment of our 
democracies ; others make him send ambassadors to the Great King ; 
others tell us he is fortifying places in Illyria. All have their differ- 
ent stories. For myself, Athenians, I do, by the Gods, believe that 
this man is intoxicated by his magnificent exploits ; I believe that a 
thousand dazzling projects lure his imagination ; and that, seeing no 
barrier opposed to his career, he is inflated by success. But, trust me, 
he does not so combine his plans that all our fools of low degree may 
penetrate them ; which fools — who are they but the gossips ? If, 
leaving them to their reveries, we would consider that this man is our 
enemy, — our despoiler, — that we have long endured his insolence ; 
that all the succors, on which we counted, have been turned against 
us ; that henceforth our only resource is in ourselves ; that, to refiise 
now to carry the war into his dominions, would surely be to impose 
upon us the fatal necessity of sustaining it at the gates of Athens * 
— if we would comprehend all this, we should then know what it im- 
ports us to know, and discard all idiot conjectures. For it is not your 
duty to dive into the future ; but it does behoove you to look in the face 
the calamities which that future must bring, unless you shake off your 
present heedless inactivity. 



2. DEGENERACY OF ATHENS. — Demosthenes. Original Translation. 

Contrast, men of Athens, your conduct with that of your an 
cestors. Loyal towards the People of Greece, religious towards tht 
Gods, faithful to the rule of civic equality, they mounted, by a sur4 
path, to the summit of prosperity. What is your condition, under 
your present complaisant rulers ? Is it still the same ? Has it in any 
respect changed ? In how many ! I confine myself to this simple 
fact : Sparta prostrate, Thebes occupied elsewhere, — with no power 
capable of disputing our sovereignty, — able, in fact, in the peaceable 
possession of our own domains, to be the umpire of other Nations, — 
what have we done ? We have lost our own provinces ; and dissi 
pa ted, with no good result, more than fifteen hundred talents ; the 
allies which we had gained by war your counsellors have deprived us 
of by peace ; and we have trained up to power our formidable fof 
Whosoever denies this, let him stand forth, and tell me where, then, 
has this Philip drawn his strength, if not from the very bosom of 
Athens ? 

Ah ! but surely, if abroad we have been weal^ned, our interior 
administration is more flourishing. And what are the evidences of 
this ? A few whitewashed ramparts, repaired roads, f'^untains, baga* 



SENATORIAL. — DEMOSTHENES. 161 

(ieiiep ' Turn — turn your eyes on the functionaries, to whom we 
Dwe those vanities. This one has passed from misery to opulence ; 
ihat one, from obscurity to splendor. Another has built for himself 
gumptuous palaces, which look down upon the edifices of the State. 
Indicd, the more the public fortunes have declined, the more have 
theii-3 ascended. Tell us the meaning of these contrasts ! Why is it, 
hat tbrmerly all pro=^)ered, while now all is in jeopardy ? It is 
because formerly the I'eople, itself, daring to wage war, was the mas- 
ter of its funcilonaries, the sovereign dispenser of all favors. It ia 
because individual citizens were then glad to receive from the People 
honors, magistracies, benefits. How are the times changed ! All 
favors are in the gift of our functionaries ; everything is under their 
control ; while you — you, the People ! — enervated in your habits, 
mutilated in your means, and weakened in your allies, stand like 
60 many supernumeraries and lackeys, too happy if your worthy 
chiefs distribute to you the fund for the theatre — if they throw to 
you a meagre pittance ! And — last degree of baseness ! — you kiss 
the hand which thus makes largess to you of your own ! Do they 
not imprison you within your own walls, begnrile you to your ruin, 
tame you and fashion you to their yoke ? Never, ! never can a 
manly pride and a noble courage impel men, subjected to vile and 
unworthy actions ! The life is necessarily the image of the heart. And 
your degeneracy — by Heaven, I should not be surprised if I, in 
cuirging it home upon you, exposed myself, rather than those who 
have brought you to it, to your resentment ! To be candid, franknees 
of speech does not every day gain the entrance of your ears^ and 
that you suffer it now, may well be matter of astonishment ! 



3. A DEMOCKACY HATEFUL TO PHILIP.— /d. Original Translatior.. 

There are persons among you, Athenians, who think to con- 
found a speaker by asking, " What, then, is to be done ? " To wbich 
I might answer: "Nothing that you are doing — everything that 
you leave undone ! " And it would be a just and a true reply. But 
[ will be more explicit ; and may these men, so ready to question, be 
equally ready to act ! In the first place, Athenians, admit the incon- 
testable fact, that Philip has broken your treaties, — that he ha.s 
declared war against you. Let us have no more crimination and 
recrimination on this point ! And then, recognize the fact, that he is 
the mortal enemy of Athens, — of its very soil, — of all within its 
walls, — -ay, of those even who most flatter themselves that they are 
high in his good gi uces. For, what Philip most dreads and abhors is 
our liberty — our Democratic system. For the destruction of that, 
all his snares are laid, all his projects are shaped ! And in this 
ie he not consistent? He is well aware that, though he should sub- 
jugate all the rest of Greece, his conquest would be insecure, while 
your Democracy stands. He knows that, should he experience one 
U 



(62 THE STANDARD SPEAKJ5R. 

Df those reverses to which the lot of humanity is so Haolc, it would 
be into your arm? that all those Nations, now forcibly held unaer his 
yoke, would rush. Is there a Tyrant to be driven back ? — Athens is 
in the field ! Is there a People to be enfranchised ? — Lo, Athens, 
prompt to aid ! Wliat wonder, then, that Philip should be impatient 
while Athenian liberty is a spy upon his evil days ? Be sure, mj 
Bountrymen, that he is your irreconcilable foe ; that it is against Ath- 
jns that he musters and disposes all his armaments ; against Athens' 
that all his schemes are laid. 

What, then, ought you, as wise men, convinced of these truths, tc 
do ? You ought to shake off your fatal lethargy, contribute accord- 
ing to your means, summon your allies to contribute, and take meas- 
ures to retain th.e troops already under arms ; so that, if Philip has an 
army prepared to attack and subjugate all the Greeks, you may also 
have one ready to succor and to save them. Tell me not of the 
trouble and expense which this will involve. I grant it all. But 
consider the dangers that menace you, and how much you will be the 
gainers by engaging heartily, at once, in the general cause. Indeed, 
should some God assure you that, however inactive and unconcerned 
you might remain, yet, in the end, you should not be molested by 
Philip, still it would be ignominious, — be witness, Heaven ! — it 
would be beneath you — beneath the dignity of your State — beneath 
the glory of your ancestors — to sacrifice, to your own selfish repose, 
the interests of all the rest of Greece. Rather would I perish than 
recommend such a course ! Let some other man urge it upon you, if 
he will ; and listen to him, if you can. . But, if my sentiments are 
yours, — if you foresee, as I do, that the more we leave Philip 
to extend his conquests, the more vi^e are fortifying an enemy, whom, 
sooner or later, we must cope with, — why do you hesitate ? What 
wait you ? V.'^hen will you put forth your strength ? Wait you the 
constraint of necessity ? What necessity do you wait? Can there 
be a greater for freemen than the prospect of dishonor ? Do you wait 
for that ? It is here already ; it presses — it weighs on us now. 
N'ow, did I say ? Long since — long since, was it before us, face to 
face. True, there is still another necessity in reserve — the necessity of 
slaves — blows and stripes ! Wait you for them ? The Gods forbid ' 
The very words, in this place, are an indignity ! 



4. VENALITY THE KUIN OF GREECE. — Zd. Original Translation. 

If ever, men of Athens, the People of Greece felt the rigor of 
your rule, or of that of Sparta, their masters were at least theii 
'5(untrymen. But where is our just in<lignation against Philip and 
nis usurpations ? — Philip, who is no Greek, and no way allied to 
Gre>"!ce, — Philip, who is not even a Barbarian of illustrious origin, 
but a miserable Macedonian, born in a country where not even a 
i\(x>mii slave could be procured ! And yet, has he not exhausted hi« 



SENATORIAL. — ^ESCHiNES 163 

resources of oi'lrage against us? Without meiitioiiing tno Grecian 
cities which he has sacked, does he not take it upon himself to pre- 
side at the J'y^hian games, a celebration exclusively national ? And, 
U' absent hinr'f If, does he not delegate his slaves to award the crowns ? 
Master of T^'ermopyU"c, and of all the passes of Greece, does he not 
hold these \rs*s by his garrisons and foreign troops ? Does he not 
place goverrors over Thessaly, at his pleasure ? Has he not wrested 
Echinus frrm. the Thebans ? Is he not, at this moment, on his marcL 
against Byt'^.ntium — Byzantium, the ally of Athens ! And if such 
if< bis aud>>c^.ty towards collective Greece, what will it be when he has 
mastered 'js all in detail ? 

And now, why is all this ? For, not without a cause could Greece, 
onoi^ so jealous of freedom, now be resigned to servitude. The cause 
is h re. Once, Athenians, in the hearts cf all our People, a senti- 
ment pr-sided, which is paramount no moi-e ; a sentiment which tri- 
umphed over Persian gold, and maintained Greece free, and invincible 
by land and sea ; but the loss of that sentiment has brought down 
I'uin, and left the country in the dust. What was it — this senti- 
Tient, so powerful ? Was it the result of any subtle policy of State ? 
No : it was a universal hatred for the bribed traitors, in the pay of 
those Powers, seeking to subdue or dishonor Greece ! Venality wa? 
a capital offence, and punished with the extremest rigor. Pardon, 
palliation, were not thought of. And so, orators and generals could 
not with impunity barter those favorable conjunctures which Fortune 
oftentimes presents to negligence and inactivity, against vigilance and 
vigor. The public concord, the general hatred and distrust of 
Tyrants and Barbarians, all the guarantees of liberty, were inac- 
cessible to the power of gold. But now all these are offered for sde 
in the open market ! And, in exchange, we have an importation of 
morals which are desolating and destroying Greece. What do they 
exhibit ^ Envy, for the recipient of base bribes ; derision, should he 
confess his crime ; pardon, should he be convicted ; and resentment 
towards his accuser ! — in a word, all the laxities which engender 
corruption. 

In vessels, in troops, in revenues, in the various resources of war, 
in all that constitutes the strength of a Sfate, we are richer than ever 
before ; but all these advantages are paralyzed, crushed, by an infa- 
mous traffic. And all this you behold with your own eyes, and my 
testimony in regard to it is quite superfluous ! 



b DEMOSTHENES DENOUNCED. — JSsckines on the Crown. Original Translation. 

When Demosthenes boasts to you, Athenians, of his Democratic 
eeal, examine, not his harangues, but his life ; not what he professes tc 
be, but what he really is ; — redoubtable in words, impotent in deeds , 
plausible in speech, perfidious in action. As to his courage — has he 
uot himself, before the assembled People, confessed his poltroonery? 
By the laws of Athens, the man who refuses to bear arms, the eowaid 



)G4 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

.he denorter of his post in battle, is excluded from ill share m th* 
paMic deliberations — denied admission to our religious ritra, ano 
reiidered incapable of receiving the honor of a crown. Yet now it k 
proposed to crown a man whom jour laws expressly disqualify ! 

Which, think you, was the more worthy citizen, — ThcmLstocles. whc 
commanded your fleet when you vanquished the Persian at Salamia 
or Demosthenes the deserter ? — Miltlades, who conquered the Barba- 
rians at Marathon, or this hireling traitor ? — AristTdes, surnamed the 
Just, or Demosthenes, who merits a far different surtame ? By all 
the Gods of Olympus, it is a profanation to mention in the same breath 
this monster and those great men ! Let him cite, if he can, one among 
them all to whom a crown was decreed. And was Athens ungrate- 
ful ? No ! She was magnanimous ; and those uncrowned citizens were 
worthy of Athens. They placed their glory, not in the letter of a 
decree, but in the remembrance of a country, of which they had mer 
ited well, — in the living, imperishable remembrance ! 

And now a popular orator — the mainspring of our calamities — a 
deserter from the field of battle, a deserter from the city — claims of 
us a crown, exacts the honor of a proclamation ! Crown him ? Pro- 
claim his worth ? ]My countrymen, this would not be to exalt Demos- 
thenes, but to degrade yourselves, — to dishonor those brave men who 
perished for you in battle. Crown him! Shall his recreancy win 
wliat was denied to their devotion ? This would indeed be to insult 
the memory of the dead, and to paralyze the emulation of the living ! 

When Demosthenes tells you that, as ambassador, he wrested 
Byzantium from Philip, — that, as orator, he roused the Acarnanians, 
and subdued the Thebans, — let not the braggart impose on you. He 
flatters himself that the Athenians are simpletons enough to believe 
him, — as if in him they cherished the very genius of persuasion, 
instead of a vile calumniator. But, when, at the close of his defence, 
he shall summon to his aid his accomplices in corruption, imagine then, 
Athenians, that you behold, at the foot of this tribune, from which 1 
now address you, the great benefactors of the Republic arrayed against 
them. Solon, who environed our liberty with the noblest institutions, 
— Solon, the philosopher, the mighty legislator, — with that benignity 
so characteristic, implores you not to pay more regard to the honeyed 
phrases of Demosthenes than to your own oaths, your own laws. 
Aristides, who fixed for Greece the apportionment of her contributions, 
and whose orphan daughters were dowered by the People, is moved to 
indignation at this prostitution of justice, and exclaims : " Think on 
your fathers ! Arthmlus of Zelia brought gold from Media into jrreece. 
and, for the act, barely escaped death in banishment ; and now Demos- 
theaes, who has not merely brought gold, but who received it as the 
price of tre;ichery, and still retains it, — Demosthenes it is unblush 
ingly proposed to invest with a golden crown ! " From those whs 
fell at Marathon and at Platcca — from Themistocles — from the verj 
sepulchres of your ancestors — issues the protesting groan of coniom. 
na.tion and rebuke ! 



BENAIORIAL, DEMOSTHENES. i65 

6 EXORDIUM. — U'.muslhenr.s on the Crown. Lord Brougl,.itn''s T -snaMtton. 

Some auth^^ities ptate that .Jlschiiies was born 397 years B. C; and others, that he was borr 
ISO B. C, and was only four years the senior of Demosthenes. Diirir.? the war with Philip, 
(Eschlnes became a strenuous advocate of compromise and peace — Demosther.es being as reso 
lately in fa\'Dr of active resistance. After the battle of Cheronaja, Demosthenes was intrusted 
with the repairing of the fortifications of the city. The cost of the woik was thirteen tjilents, 
of which he paid three from his own pui-se. Ctesiphon pro])osed that a troklen crown should bf 
foted him. .Bscliines maintained that, undei- tlie circumstances, the p»oposal was ille^'al, and 
brought a suit ni.ininnlly H:.;aii]St Ctt>ipIion, but really to crush Demosthenes. From varioiia 
»uscs, the trial u;is ikhiv'-il i-iLrlit years. At last it came on. The accuser's speech was • 
grc'at effort. Hut Ufuinsilnries \v;is in-Lsistible. " The greatest oration of the gi'eatest of crft- 
fairs," is the phrase which I/ivd Bmuirh^un applies to the Oration on the Crown. Ctesiphon wa» 
icquittod by a cniisiilcTable nia.iority. /Eschines went into banishment at Kl odes, where he 
set up a school of rhetoric. He once read the oration of Demosthenes to his jiujiils. I'pon 
their e.\i)ressing their admii'ation of it, he said, '' What would you have thouglit, had you heard 
the lion himself?" 

Let me begin. Men of Athens, by imploring, of all the Heavenly 
Powers, that the same kindly sentiments which I have, tiiroughout 
my public life, cherished towards this country and each one of you, 
may now by you be shown towards me in the present contest ! In 
two respects my adversary plainly has the advantage of me. First, we 
have not the same interests at stake : it is by no means the same 
thing for me to forfeit your esteem, and for ^Eschmes, an unprovoked 
volunteer, to fail in his impeachment. My other distidvantage is, the 
natural proneness of men to lend a pleased attention to invective and 
accusation, but to give little heed to him whose theme is his own vin- 
dication. To my adversary, therefoi'e, falls the part which ministers 
to your gratification, while to me there is only left that which, I may 
almost say, is distasteful to all. And yet, if I do not speak of myself 
and my own conduct, I shall appear defenceless against his charges, 
and without proof that my honors were well earned. This, therefore, 
I must do ; but it shall be with moderation. And bear in mind that 
the blame of my dwelling on personal topics must justly rest upon him 
who has instituted this personal Impeachment. 

At least, my Judges, you will admit that this question concerns me 
as much as Ctesiphon, and justifies on my part an equal anxiety. To 
be stripped of any possession, and more aspecially by an enemy, is 
grievous to bear; but to be robbed of your confidence and esteem, -- 
of all possessions the most precious, — is indeed intolerable. Such, 
th*^n, being my stake in this cause, I conjure you all to give. ear to 
mv defence against these charges, with tliat impartiality which the 
laws enjoin, — those laws first given bj kSoloii. and which he fixed, not 
only by engraving them on brazen tables, but by the sanction of tha 
oaths you take when sitting in judgment ; because he perceived that, 
the accuser being armed with the advantage of spe<iking first, the 
accused can have no chance of resisting his charges, unless 30U, hia 
Judges, keeping the oath sworn before Heaven, shall receive with favor 
the deiencc v,'hich comes last, and, lending an equal ear to both parties, 
shall thus make up your minds upon the whole of the case. 

^i)tj 05! this day, when T am 'about to render up an account, as it 
should at^em. of my whole life, both public and private, I would again 
Wj in the outset, implore the Gods, and in your presence po'',ir out i/> 



l66 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

them my supi-lications, — first, to grant rue at your htiudi the same kin^. 
Bess, iu this coutiict, which I have ever borne towards our country anc 
all of you ; and next, that they may incline you all to pronounce upoi 
this Impeachu)*^nt the decision which shaU best consult the glory of th« 
State, ap'^ »-. ,jligious obligations of each individual Judge! 



7. PUBLIC SPIRIT OF ATHENIANS. — £)emosZAeMe« on the Crown. 

Ihe Athenians never were known to live contented in a slavist 
though secure obedience to unjust and arbitrary power. No. Oui 
whole history is a series of gallant contests tor pret'ininence : thf 
whole period of our national existence hath been spent in braving dan- 
gers, for the sake of glory and renown. And so highly do you esteem 
such conduct, as characteristic of the Athenian spirit, that those of 
your ancestors who were most eminent for it are ever the most favor- 
ite objects of your praise. And with reason : for, who can reflect, 
without astonishment, on the magnanimity of those men who resigned 
their lands, gave up their city, and embarked in their ships, mther 
than live at the bidding of a stranger ? The Athenians of that day 
looked out for no speaker, no general, to procure them a state of easy 
slavery. They had the spirit to reject even life, unless they were 
allowed to enjoy that life in freedom. For it was a principle fixed 
deeply in every breast, that man was not born to liis parents only, bu- 
to his country. And mark the distinction. He who regards himscif 
as born only to his parents waits in passive submission for the hour 
of his natural dissolution. He who considers that he is the child of 
his country, also, volunteers to meet death rather than behold that 
country reduced to vassalage ; and thinks those insults and disgraces 
which he must endure, in a state enslaved, much more terrible than 
death. 

Should I attempt to assert that it was I who inspired you with sen- 
timents worthy of your ancestors, 1 should meet the just resentment 
of every bearer. No : it is my point to show that such sentiments 
are properly your own ; that they were the sentiments of my country 
long before my days. I claim but my share of merit in having acted 
on such principles in every part of my administration. He, then, uho 
condemns every part of my administration, — he who directs you to treat 
me with severity, as one who hath involved the state in terrors and dan- 
gers,-- while he labors to deprive me of present honor, robs you of ths 
applause of all posterity. For, if you now pronounce, that, as my pub- 
lic conduct hath not been right, Ctesiphon nmst stand condemned, h 
must be thought that you yourselves have acted wrong, not that yoij 
owe your present state to the caprice of fortune. — But it cannc t be ' 
No, my countrymen, it cannot be that you have acted wrong iv 
encountering danger bravely for the liberty and safet}"- of all Greece. 
No ! I swear it by the spirits of our sires, who rushed uj^wn destruo 
tion at Marathon! — by those who stood arrayed at Platsea ! — bj 



SEXATORIAL. — DEMOSTHENES. 16? 

tKose who fought the sea-fight at Salilmis ! — by the men of Artemi- 
siiuu ' — by the others, so many and so brave, who now )-est in our 
public sepulchres ! — all of whom their country judged worthy of the 
same honor ; all, I say, .^chines ; not those only who prevailed, noi 
tnOhC only who were victorious. — And with reason. What was tho 
part of gallant men, they all performed. Their i;4ccess was such ae 
the supreme liuler of the world dispensed to each. 



8. DEMOSTIIEXES NOT VANQUISHED BY VniLlV. —Demosthenes on the Ctjwk 
Lord BroughanVs Translation. 

A. WICKED thing, Athenians, a wicked thing is a calumniator, ever , 
- querulous and industrious in seeking pretences of complaint. But 
this creature is despicable by nature, and incapable of any trace of 
generous and noble deeds; ape of a tragedian, third-rate actor, spuri- 
(lus orator ! For what, vEschines, does your eloquence profit the 
country ? You now descant upon what is past and gone ; as if a 
physician, when called to patients in a sinking state, should give n'' 
advicO; nor prescribe any course by which the disease might be cured 
but, after one of them had died, and the last oflBces were performing 
to his remains, should follow him to the grave, and expound how the 
poor man never would have died had such and such things only been 
done. Moonstrieken ! is it now that at length you too speak out ? 

As to the defeat, that incident in which you so exult (wretch ! who 
should rather mourn for it), — look through my whole conduct, and 
you shall find nothing there that brought down this calamity on my 
country. Consider only, Athenians : Never, from any embassy upon 
which you sent me, did I come off worsted by Philip's ambassador ; 
not from Thessaly, not from Ambracia, not from Illyria, not from the 
Thracian kings, not from the Byzantians, nor from any other quarter 
whatever, — nor finally, of late, from Thebes. But wheresoever his 
negotiators were overcome in debate, thither Philip marched, and 
carried the day by his arms. Do you, then, exact this of me ; and ar« 
you not ashamed, at the moment you are upbraiding me for weakness, 
to require that I should defy him single-handed, and by force of words 
alone ? For what other weapons had I ? Certainly not the lives of 
men, nor the fortune of warriors, nor the military operations of which 
you are so blundering as to demand an account at my hands. 

But, whatever a minister can be accountable for, make of .hat the 
^Lrictest scrutiny, and I do not object. What, then, falls within thia 
icscription ? To descry events in their first beginnings, to cast hia 
look forward, and to warn others of their approach. All this I have 
done. Then, to confine within the narrowest bounds all delfiys. and 
backwardness, and ignorance, and contentiousness, — faults which are 
inherent and unavoidable in all States ; and, on the other hand, to pro- 
mote unanimity, and friendly dispositions, and zeal in the nerformancc 
>if public duty : — and all these things I likewise did, nor <3an ix'X) 



i68 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

man point out any of thera that, so far as depended ou me. was !eft 
undone. 

If, then, it should be asked by what mean? Philip for the most pan 
succeeded in his operations, every one would answer. By his army, hy 
bis largesses, by corrupting those at Hi head of affairs. "Well, then, 
I neither had armies, nor did I command them ; and therefore the 
argument respecting military operations cannot touch me. Nay in so 
far as I was inaccessible to bribes, there I conquered Philip ' For, 
as he who purchases any one overcomes him who has received the 
price and sold himself, so he who will not take the money, nor consent 
to be bribed, has conquered the bidder. Thus, as far as I am con- 
cerned, this country stands unconquered 



a CATALINE DENOUNCED. — Cwero. 

Cicero, Ihe greatest of Roman orators, was bom at Arpinmn, 106 B. C, two hundred and six 
teen years after the death of Demosthenes. Having taken part against Antony, after the assassi- 
nation of Caisar, Cicero was proscribed. He was murdered by a party of soldiers, heade-l by 
Popilius Lainas, whose life he had formerly saved by his eloquence ; and his head and hards 
were publicly exhibited on the rostrum at Rome. He perished in his sixty-fourth year, 43 
B. C. His writings are voluminous. As an orator, Cicero ranks next to Demosthenes ; and 
his orations against Catiline and Ven-es are masterpieces of denunciatory eloquence. 

How far, Catiline, wilt thou abuse our patience ? How long 
shalt thou baffle justice in thy mad career ? To what extreme wilt 
thou carry thy audacity ? Art thou nothing daunted by tne nightly 
watch, posted to secure the Palatium ? Nothing, by the city guards'' 
Nothing, by the rally of all good citizens ? Nothing, by the assembling 
of the Senate in this fortified place ? Nothing, by the averted looks 
of all here present ? Scest thou not that all thy plots are exposed t 
— that thy wretched conspiracy is laid bare to every man's knowledge, 
here in the Senate ? — that we are well aware of thy proceedings of 
last night ; of the night before ; — the place of meeting, the company 
convoked, the measures concerted ? Alas, the times ! Alas, the 
public morals ! The Senate understands all this. The Consul sees 
it. Yet the traitor lives ! Lives ? Ay, truly, and confronts us here 
in council, — takes part in our deliberations, — and, with his measur- 
ing eye, marks out each man of us for slaughter ! And we, all this 
tvhile, strenuous that we are, think we have amply discharged our 
duty to the State, if we but shun this madman's sword and fury ! 

Long since, Catiline, ought the Consul to have ordered thee to 
oxscution, and brought upon thy own head the ruin thou hast beea 
meditating against others ! There was that virtue once in Rome, that 
9 wicked citizen was held more execrable than the deadliest foe. We 
Lave a law still, Catiline, for thee. Think not that we are powerless., 
because forbearing. We have a decree, — though it rests among our 
archives like a sword in its scabbard, — a decree, by which thy life 
would be made to pay the forfeit of thy crimes. And, should I order 
chce to be instantly seized and put to death, I make just doubt whether 
ill good men would not think it done rather too late than any map 



SENATORIAL. — CICERO. JOS' 

K* craelly But, for good reasons, I will yet defer +he blow long 
Birico deserved Then will I doom thee, when no man ia found, so lost, 
so wicked, nay, so like thyself, but shall confess that it was justly 
dealt. While there is one man that tiares defend thee, live ! But 
thou shalt live so beset, so surrounded, so scrutinized, by the vigilant 
guards that I have placed around thee, that thou shalt not stir a fool 
against the Republic, without my knowledge. There shall be eyes 
to detect thy slightest movement, and ears to catch thy wariest whia- 
ner, of which -thou shalt not dream. The darkness of night shal' 
not cover thy treason — the walls of privacy shall not stifle its voice. 
Baffled on all sides, thy most secret counsels clear as noon-day^ 
what canst thou now have in view ? Proceed, plot, conspire, as thou 
wilt ; there is nothing you can contrive, nothing you can propose 
nothing you can attempt, which I shall not know, hear and promptly 
understand. Thou shalt soon be made aware that I am even more 
active in providing for the preservation of the State than thou ir 
plottins its destruction ! 



10. CATn^INE EXPELLED. — Cic^-rn 

At length, Romans, we ai .. rid of Catiline ! We have driven mm 
Torth, drunk with fury, breathing mischief, threatening to revisit ua 
with fire and sword. He is gone ; he is fled ; he has escaped ; he haa 
broken away. No longer, within the very walls of the city, shall he 
jlot her ruin. We ha\'e forced him from secret plots into open rebel- 
jon. The bad citizen is now the avowed traitor. His flight is the 
5onfe6sion of his treason ! Would that his attendants had not been 
«) few ! Be speedy, ye companions of his dissolute pleasures ; bo 
jpeedy, and you may overtake him before night, on the Aurelian road. 
Let him not languish, deprived of your society. Haste to join the 
songenial crew that compose his army ; his army, I say, — for who 
Joubts that the army under Manlius expect Catiline for their leader * 
And such an army ! Outcasts from honor, and fugitives from debt ; 
gamblers and felons ; miscreants, whose dreams are of rapine, mui'der 
and conflagration I 

Against these gallant troops of your adversary, prepare, Romans, 
your garrisons and armies ; and first to that maimed and battered 
gladiator oppose your Consuls and Generals; next, against that miser- 
able outcast horde, lead forth the strength and flower of all Italy! 
On the one side chastity contends ; on the other, wantonness : here 
purity, there pollution ; here integrity, there treachery; here piety, 
^here profaneness ; here constancy, there rage ; here honesty, tnere 
bascKtss ; here continence, thei-e .lust ; in short, equity, temperance, 
fortitude, prudence, struggle with iniquity, luxury, cowardice, rash- 
ness ; every virtue with every vice ; and, lastly, the contest lies be- 
tween well-gTOunded hope and absolute despair. In such a eonflicti 
were even human aid to fail, would not the immortal Gods Jinpowet 
«ueh conspicuous virtue to tnumph '"er such complicated vice ^ 



17£ 



THE SrANDARD SPEAKER. 



11. VERRES DENOUNCED. — Cicero. 



An opuiion has long prevaile I, Fathers, that, in public prosecutions 
men of wealth, however clearly convicted, are always safe. This 
'jpinion, so injurious to your order, so detrimental to the State, it is 
now in your power to refute. A man is on trial before you who ia 
rich, and who hopes his riches will compass his acquittal ; but whase 
Ufe and ictions are his sufficient condemnation in the eyes of all candid 
men. 1 speak of Gaias Verres, who, if he now receive not the sen- 
tence his crimes deserve, it shall not be through the lack of a criminal, 
or of a prosecutor ; but through the failure of Hie ministers of justice 
to do their duty. Passing over the shameful irregularities of his 
youth, what does the qusestorship of Verres exhibit but one continued 
scene of villanies ? The public treasure squandered, a Consul stripped 
and betrayed, an army deserted and reduced to want, a province robbed, 
the civil and religious rights of a People trampled on ! But his prae- 
torship in Sicily has crowned his career of wickedness, and completed 
the lasting monument of his infamy. His decisions have violated all 
law, all precedent, all right. His extortions from the industrious poor 
have been beycnd computation. Our most faithful allies have been 
treated as enemies, lloman citizens have, like slaves, been put to 
death with tortures. Men the most worthy have been condemned and 
banished without a hearing, while the most atrocious criminals have, 
with money, purchaseu exemption from the punishment due to their 
guilt. 

I a,sk now, Verres, what have you to advance against these charges ^ 
Art thou not the tyrant praetor, who, at no greater distance than Sicily, 
within sight of the Italian coast, dared to put to an infamous death, 
on the cross, that ill-fated and innocent citizen, Publlus Gavins Cosa- 
nus ? And what was his offence ? He had declared his intention 
of appealing to the justice of his country against your brutal persecu- 
tions ! For tills, when about to embarli; for home, he was seized, 
brought before you, charged with being a spy, scourged and tortured. 
In vain did he exclaim : "I am a lloman citizen I I have served 
ander Lucius Pretius, who is now at Panornms, and who will attest 
my innocence! " Deaf to all remonstrance, remorseless, thirsting for 
innocent blood, you ordered the savage punishment to be inflicted ' 
V/liile the sacred words, " I am a Roman citizen, ' were on his lips, — 
wrords which, in the remotest regions, are a passport to protection,— 
7011 crdm-ed him to death, to a death upon the cross ! 

O liberty ! sound once delightful to every Roman ear ! 
feacrol privilege of Roman citizenship! once sacred, — now trampled 
on I Is it come to this ? Shall an inferior magistrate, a governor, 
who holds his whole power of the Roman People, in a Roman prov- 
vnce, within sight of Italy, bind, scourge, torture, and put to an infa- 
tnous death, a Roman citizen ? Shall neither the cries of innoceuca 
expiring in agony, the tears of pitying spectators, the majesty of th« 
Roman Commonwealth, nor the tear of the ju-itic3 of his country. 



SENATOUIAI, iMIRABEATI. 171 

*cs)train the raeic/less monster, who. in the confidence of his richea 
strikes at the very root of liberty, and sets n unkind at aefiunce \ 
And shall this man escajje ' Fathers, it must not be ! It must not 
be, unless you would undermine the very foundations of social safety, 
strangle justice, and call down anarchy, massacre and ruin, on the 
Ccmm6nweaith ! 



him 


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liuauiiiea ti- 




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' He was a u>: 


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.'alii 


•ity of his f .1 


i.'i.es 


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equently repr 


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addresses th 


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of Eii>;iand anil ;l 


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im which he make 



i3. AQAIXST TUE NOBILITY AND CLKRGY OF PROVENCK, Feb. 3, 1789.— 
Original Translation from Mirabeau. 

Honor* Gabrit-i Ruiuetti, Comte de Mirabeau, was born at Bignon, in France, on the 9th of 
Uarch, 1749. The early part of his life was one of disorder and misery The French Revolu- 
tion offci-fd a field for his ener^jies. Ci-iii:.' rejertL-d, at tlie time of the elections, by the nobU- 

Ityof l'ruvene..',h"hiredau-,iivL .u-, imi n]n],\< in.,Ti|ii in,, — '• M ii :il.,:u;. v lloii-,lra])er,"— 

and was fli'ctrd l.-puty t'r<iiii :■• |i- ■ , ■ : ■ - - !■ :ik .if the eefect 

of hiselMiiiv;]!!-.- ii~ ^iii-iirisii,_- "li '■ • ; ' i : I, '. -n|i!-i-iiie author 

ity of a ni:ist-r, and tli.- iinii-ii il '.v .i ;i,:i;;,.:" 1'- r^-.i i,.;,, m ■ v, :, .jiiii .■ n, ly He himself 
has said, in a letter to a lady wln.i liad iint >r"i\ him : — '' Iiiia-iiie a ti-or scan-rd with the sraal) 
po.x, and you may form s^me notion of my features." " He was a inaii," says one nf his crlt 
, "who, by his .|ualities no Ifss tlian by the siii.L'nlarity of his firtun.-, i- destined to take 
, ,,|ac.. in I'li^n.rv bv i]:.- <id.- of <}v l>.-iiv.-thenes, tile Graechi, and tli- ..iii-r ki- Ir-d spirits 

-I' ii-1 1791. 
: ' :.,,,. instead 
i .-■ M-,~, .dscendt 

In all countries, in all ages, have aristocrats implacably pursued the 
friends of the People ; and when, by I know not what combination of 
fortune, .-luch a friend has uprisen from the very bosom of the aristoc- 
racy, it has been at him prcti'minently that they have struck, eager to 
inspire wider terror by the elevation of their victim. So perished the 
last of the Gracchi by the hands of the Patricians, But, mortally 
emittcii. he flung dust towards Heaven, calling the avenging Gods tc 
Vi'itiii'ss: and, from that dust, sprang Marius ; — Marius, less illus- 
trious tor having exterminated the Oiinbri than for having beaten down 
the despotism of the nobility in Rome. 

But you. Commons, listen to one, who, unseduced by your appiau:?e3, 
yet cherishes them in his heart. iMau is strong only by union ; happy 
only by peace. Be firm, not ol>stinate; courageous, not turbulent: 
free, not undisciplined ; prompt, not precipitate. Stop not except ai 
difficulties of nionieiit ; and be then wholly inflexible. But disdain the 
contentions of self-love, and never thrust into the balance the individ 
ual against the country. Above all, hasten, as much as in you lies 
the epoch of those States-General, from which you are charged with 
flinching, — the more acrimoniously charged, the more your accusers 
dread the results ; of those States-General, through which so many 
pretensions will be scattered, so many rights reestablished, so many 
evils reformed ; of those States-General, in short, through which tW 
monarch himself desires that France should regenerate herself. 

For myself, who, in my public career, have had no other fear btU 
fiiat of wrong-doing, — who, girt with my conscience, and armed wiu 
my principles, would brave the universe, — whether it shall be my for 
tune lo seive you with my voice and mj exertions in tba Nationa' 
Assembly, or \vhether I shall be enabled to aid you there with im 



V2 THE STANDARI SI'EAKiCE 

prajers only, be sure that the vain clamors, the wrathful menacei, i^« 
mjurioas protestations, — all the convulsions, in a word, of exfjiring 
prejudices, — shall not on 7ne impose ! What! shall he now paase in 
Ills civic course, who, first among all the men of France, emphatically 
proclaimed his opinions on national aifairs, at a time when circumstances 
were much less urgent than now, and the task one of much greatei 
peril ? Never ! No measure of outrages shall bear down my patience. 
I have been, I am, I shall be, even to the tomb, the man of the 
Public Liberty, the man of the Constitution. If to be such be tc 
become the man of the People rather than of the Nobles, then wo& 
to the privileged orders ! For privileges shall have an end, but th& 
People is eternal ! 

13. NECKER'S FINANCIAL PLAN, Sept. 26, 1789.— Mirofteau. Orig. Translation. 



Necker, the minister of finance, having proposed an income tax of twenty-five per cent., witt 
other measures, in view of the desperate state of the financial affairs of France, the propositicn 
was advocated by JVlirabeau, who did not, however, profess to comprehend or endorse all its 
details. Although a known enemy to the minister, he magnanimously made two speeches ic 
behalf of his measure ; without, however, inducing the Assembly to pass it, until, on the eve 
of its being rejected, Mirabeau rushed to tlie Tribune, and poured forth a last ajipeal, an abridg- 
ment of which is here given. This speech proved effectual. The Assembly received it mth 
Bhouts of enthusiasm ; and Necker's plan was adopted. Madame de Stael (Necker's daughter), 
who was near Mirabeau at the time of the delivery of this speech, says that " its effect was 
prodigious." 

■The minister of finance has presented a most alarming picture of 
the state of our affairs. He has assured us that delay must aggravate., 
the peril ; and that a day, an hour, an instant, may render it fatal. 
We have no plan that can be substituted for that which he proposes. 
On this plan, therefore, we must fall back. But, have we time, G(.ik- 
tlemen ask, to examine it, to probe it thoroughly, and verify its calcu- 
lations ? No, no ! a thousand times no ' Hap-hazard conjectme.i, 
insignificant inquiries, gropings that can but mislead, — these ai e ail 
that we can give to it now. Shall we therefore miss the deoufl^e 
moment ? Do G-entlemen hope to escape sacrifices and taxation by a 
plunge into national bankruptcy ? What, then, is bankruptcy, but the 
most cruel, the most iniquitous, most unequal and disastrous of imposts i 
Listen to me for one moment ! 

Two centuries of plunder and abuse have dug the abyss which 
threatens to engulf the Nation. It must be filled up — this terrible 
chasm. But how ? Here is a list of proprietors. Choose from the 
wealthiest, in order that the smallest number of citizens may be sacri- 
ficed. But choose ! Shall not a few perish, that the mass of the 
People may be saved ? Come, then ! Here are two thousand Nota- 
bles, whose property will supply the deficit. Restore order to your 
finances, peace and prosperity to the Kingdom ! Strike ! Immolate, 
vrithout mer(3y, these unfortunate victims ! Hurl them into the abyss: 
— It ciases : 

You recoil with dismay fi-om the contemplation. Inconsistent and 
pusillanimous ! What ! Do you not perceive that, in decreeing a 
public bankruptcy, or, what is worse, in rendering it iu'iviiable with 



BE-VATORIAL. MIXABEAU. 1 78 

8ttf (lecn^ing it, you disgrace yourselves by an act a thousaDd tiruee 
more criminal, and — folly inconceivable ! — gratuitously criminal ^ 
For, in the shocking alternative I have supposed, at least the deficit 
?rould be wiped off. But do you imagine that, in refusing to pay, you 
shall cease to owe ? Think you that the thousands, the millions of 
men, who will lose in an instant, by the terrible explosion of a bank- 
ruptcy, or its re^'ulsion, all that formed the consolation of their lives, 
and perhaps their sole means of subsistence, — think you that they 
will leave you to the peaceable fruition of your crime? Stoical spec* 
tators of the incalcidable evils which this catastrophe would disgorge 
upon France ; impenetrable egotists, who fancy that these convulsions 
oi' desjiair and of misery will pass, as other calamities have passed, — 
and all the mjre rapidly because of their intense violence, — are you, 
indeed, certain that so many men without bread will leave you tran- 
quilly to the enjoyment of those savory viands, the number and deli- 
cacy of which you are so loth to diminish ? No ! you will perish , 
and, in the universal conflagration, which you do not shrink from kin- 
dling, you will not, in losing your honor, save a single one of your 
detestable indulgences. This is the way we are going. And I say 
to you, that the men who, above all others, are interested in the 
enforcement of these sacriilces which the Government demands, are 
you yourselves ! Vote, then, this subsidy extraordinary ; and may it 
prove sufficient! Vote it, inasmuch as whatever doubts you may 
entertain as to the means, — doubts vague and unenlightened, — you 
can have none as to the necessity, or as to our inability to provide — 
immediately, at least — a substitute. Vote it, because the circum- 
Btances of the country admit of no evasion, and we shall be responsi- 
ble for all delays. Beware of demanding more time I Misfortune 
accords it never. Wliy, Gentlemen, it was but the other day, that, in 
reference to a ridiculous commotion at the Palais-Royal,* — a Quixotic 
insurrection, which never had any importance save in the feeble imag- 
inations or perverse designs of certain faithless men, — 3'ou heard these 
wild words : " Catiline is at the gates of Rome, and yet you delib- 
erate ! " And verily there was neither a Catiline nor a Borne ., 
neither perils nor factions around you. But, to-day, bankruptcy, 
hideous bankruptcy, is there before you, and threatens to consume you, 
yourselves., your property, your honor, — and yet you deliberate! 



14 ON THE REFUSAL OF TIIE CHAMBER OF VACATIONS OF RENNES TO OBEY 
THE DECREES OF TIIE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY, JaxN. 9, Vm. — Original Tranx 
lotion from Miraheau. 

When, during our session yesterday, those words which you have 
taught Frenchmen to unlearn — orders, privileges — fell on my ears; 
when a private corporation of one of the Provinces of this Empire 

* The s in Palais is mute, and the diphthong ai has the sound of n in air, befor* 
the r is reached. The French pronunciation of Royal may bo expressed in Englia's 
thus : Roh-ati-ee-aM ; bu'; the syllables must be fused rapidly in the u jtur&Doe. 



171 THE STANDARD SPEAKER, 

Bpoke to you of the impossibility of consentins to the executioR ol 
Four decrees, sanctioned by the King ; when certain magistrates 
declared to you, that their conscience and their honor forbade their 
obedience to your laws, — I said to myself, Ai'e these, then, dethroned 
sovereigns, who, in a transport of imprudent but generous pride, are 
addressing successful usurpers ? No ; these are men, whose arrogant 
pretensions have too long been an insult to all ideas of social ordei ; 
shampions, even more interested than audacious, of a system which 
has cost France centuries of oppression, public and private, political 
and fiscal, feudal and judicial, — and whose hope is to make us regret 
and revive that system. The people of Brittany have sent among you 
sixty-six representatives, who assure you that the new Constitution 
crowns all their wishes ; — and here come eleven Judges of the Prov- 
inie, who cannot consent that you should be the benefactors of their 
country. They have disobeyed your laws; and they pride themselves 
on their disobedience, and believe it will make their names honored by 
posterity. No, Gentlemen, the remembrance of their folly will not 
pass to posterity. What avail their pigmy efforts to brace themselves 
against the progress of a Revolution the grandest and most glorious 
in the world's history, and one that must infallibly change the face of 
the globe and the lot of humanity ? Strange presumption, that would 
arrest liberty in its course, and roll back the destinies of a great 
Nation ! 

It ib not to antiquated transactions, — it is not to musty treaties?, 
wherein fraud combined with force to chain men to the car of certain 
haughtjr masters, — that the National Assembly have resorted, in their 
mvestigations into popular rights. The titles we offer are more impos^ 
ing bv far ; ancient as time, sacred and imprescriptible as Nature ! 
What ! Must the terms of the marriage contract of one Anne of 
Brittaiiy make the People of that Province slaves to the Nobles till 
the cohsummation of the ages ? These refractory nsagistrates speak of 
the statutes which " immutably fix our powers of legislation." Immu- 
\ably fix ! 0, how that word tears the veil from their innermost 
thoughts ! How would they like to have abuses immutable upon the 
earth, and evil eternal ! Indeed, what is lacking to their felicity but 
the perpetuity of that feudal scourge, which unhappily has lasted mily 
nx centuries ? But it is in vain that they rage. All now is changed 
or changing. There is nothing immutable save reason — save the 
gov oreignty of the People — save the inviolability of its decrees ! 



15. IN REPLY TO THOSE WHO DENIED THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY THE LEGH 
IMATE POWERS OF A NATIONAL CONVENTION, Apkil 19, 1790. — A/irofee*. 
Original Translation. 

It is with difficulty, G-entlemen. that I can repress an emotion of 
indignation, when I hear hostile rhetoricians continually oppos") the 
Nation to the National Assembly, and endeavor to exo'te a sort of 
rivalry Wttween -^hem. As if it were not th.'^ugh the National 



SENATORIAL. MIKAHEAU. 17 ii 

As.iembly thai the Nation had recognized, recovered, reiionquorcd its 
rights : As if it were not through the National Assembly that the 
French had, in truth, become a Nation ! As if, surrounded by the 
monuments of our labors, our dangers, our services, we could become 
Buspcfted by the People — formidable to the liberties of the People ! 
As if the regards of two workls upon you fixed, as if the spectacle of 
ycur glory, as if the gi-atitude of so many millions, as if the very 
pride of a generous conscience, which would have to blush toe deeply 
bo belie itself, — were not a sufficient guarantee of your fidelity A your 
patriotism, of your virtue ! 

Commissioned to form a Constitution for France, I will not ask 
whether, with that authority, we did not receive also the power to do 
all that was necessary to complete, establish, and confirm that Consti- 
tution. I will not ask, ought we to have List in pusillanimous consult 
ations the time of action, while nascent Liberty would have received 
her death-blow ? But if Gentlemen insist on demanding when and 
how, from simple deputies of bailiwicks, we became all at once trans- 
formed into a National Convention, I reply, It was on that day, when, 
finding the hall where we were to assemble closed, and bristling and 
}X)llutcd with bayonets, we resorted to the first place where we could 
reiinite, to swear to perish rather than submit to such an order of 
things ! That day, if we were not a National Convention,, we becamf* 
one ; became one for the destruction of arbitrary power, and for the 
defence of the rights of the Nation from all violence. The strivings 
of Despotism which we have quelled, the perils which we have 
averted, the violence which we have repressed, — these are our titles ! 
Our successes have consecrated them ; the adhesion, so often renewed, 
of all parts of the Empire, has legitimized and sanctified them. Sum- 
moned to its task by the irresistible tocsin of necessity, our National 
Convention is above all imitation, as it is above all authority. It is 
accountable only to itself, and can be judged only by ];)0sterity. 

Gentlemen, you all remember the instance of that Roman, who, tc 
save his country from a dangerous conspiracy, had been constrained to 
overstep the powers conferred on him by the laws. A captious Tri- 
bune exacted of him the oath that he had respected those laws ; hoping, 
by this insidious demand, to drive the Consul to the alternative of per- 
jury or of an embarrassing avowal. " Swear," said the Tribune, 
'* that you have observed tihe laws." " I swear," replied '■be great 
iiiian, — " I swear that I have saved the Republic." Gentlemen, I 
Bw<ar that you have saved France ! 



18. ON PEINQ SUSPECTED OF BECER'INQ 0V:ERTURES FROM THE COtJUT, M».r 
22,1T90. - Mirabeau. Original Translation. 

It would be an important step towai'ds the reconciliation of poTitical 
opponents, if they would clearly signify on what points they agree, and 
Dn what they differ. To this end, friendly discussions avail more far 
iQore, than calumnious insinuations, furious invectives, the acerbities i'f 



176 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

partisan rivalry, ttie machinations of intrigue and malevolence, Fo3 
eight days, now, it has been given out that those members of the 
National Assembly in favor of the provision requiring the concurrence 
of the royal will for the exercise of the right of peace and war are 
parricides of the public liberty. Rumors of perfidy, of corruption-, have 
been bruited. Popular vengeance has been invoked to enforce the 
tyranny of opinion ; and denunciatinns have been uttered, as if, on a 
subject invijiving one of the most delicate and difficult questions affect- 
ing the organization of society, persons could not dissent without a 
cvhae. What strange madness, what deplorable infatuation, is this, 
which thus incites against one another men whom — let debate run 
never so high — one common object, one indestructible sentiment of 
pati iotism, ought always to bring together, always to reunite ; but 
who thus substitute, alas ! the irascibility of self-love for devotion to 
the public good, and give one another over, without compunction, to the 
hatred and distrust of the People! 

And me, too — me, but the other day, they would have borne iir. 
triumph ; — and now they cry in the streets. The great treason of 
THE Count of Mirabeau ! I needed not this hssson to teach me, 
how short the distance from the Capitol to the Tarpeian Hock J 
But the man who battles for reason, for country, does not so easily 
admit that he is vanquished. He who has the consciousness that he 
deserves well of that country, and, above all, that he is still able to 
serve her ; who disdains a vain celebrity, and- prizes veritable glory 
above the successes of the day ; who would speak the truth, and labor 
for the public weal, independently of the iiuctuations of popular 
opinion, — such a man carries in his own breast the recompense of his 
services, the solace of his pains, the reward of his dangers. The har- 
vest he looks for — the destiny, the only destin} , to which he aspires 
— is that of his good name ; and for that he is content to trust to- 
time, — to time, that incorruptible judge, who dispenses justice to all? 

Let those who, for these eiglit days past, have been ignorantly pre 
dieting my opinion, — who, at this moment, calumniate my discourse 
without comprehending it, — let them charge me, if they will, with 
beginning to offer incense to the impotent idols I have overturned — 
with being the vile stipendiary of men wham I have never ceased tt 
combat ; let them denounce as an enemy of the Revolution him, who 
at least has contributed so much to its cause, that his safety, if not his 
glory, lies in its support ; — let them deliver over to the rage of a 
deceived Pecple him, who, for twenty years, has warred against 
oppression in all its forms ; — who spoke to Frenchmen of Liberty, of 
a Constitution, of Resistance, at a time when his vile calumniators 
were p.ucking the milk of Courts, — living on those dominant abuses 
which he denounced : — what matters it ? These underhand attacks 
shall not stop me in my career. I will say to my traducers. Answer 
if you can, and then calumniate to your heart's content! And now ] 
reenter the lists, armed only with rrj principles, and a steadfast cod' 



I 



gVA'ATOMAL. MIKABEAU. Ill 

•... fcULOQlUM ON FRANKLIN, Jcmb 11, 1190. — Mirabeau. Original TratuilaUon. 

Franklin is dead ! Restored to the bosom of the Divinity is that 

f;eaiu8 wliich gave freedom to America, and rayed forth torrenti. of 
igl\t upon Europe. The sage whom t'.vo worlds claim — the man 
whom the History of Empires and the History of Science alike contend 
I'or — occupied, it cannot be denied, a lofty rank among his species. 
Long enough have political Cabinets &-ignalized the death of those who 
were greiit in their tuneral eulogies only. Long enough ha.«J the 
etiquette of Courts pi-escribed hypocritical mournings. For their '■■ci- 
efactors oidy, should Nations assume the emblems of grief; and the 
Representatives of Nations should commend only the heroes of human- 
ity to public veneration. 

In the fourteen States of the Confederacy, Congress has ordained a 
mourning of two months for the death of Franklin ; and America i? 
at this moment acquitting herself of this tribute of honor to one of the 
Fathers of her Constitution. Would it not become us, Gentlemen, to 
imite in this religious act ; to participate in this homage, publicly ren- 
dered, at otice to the rights of man, and to the philosopher who has 
contributed most largely to their vindication throughout the world ? 
Antiquity would have erected altars to this great and powerful genius, 
who, to promote the welfare of mankind, comprehending both the 
Heavens and the Earth in the range of his thought, could at once snatch 
the bolt from the cloud and the sceptre from tyrants. France, 
enlightened and free, owes at least the acknowledgment of her remem- 
brance and regret to one of the greatest intellects that ever served the 
united cause of philosophy and liberty. I propose that it be now 
decreed that the National Assembly wear mourning, during three 
days, for j^enjamin Franklin. 



U. THE union of CHURCH AND STATE. — Original Translation from Mirabeau 

We are reproached with having refused to decree that the Cath- 
olic religion. Apostolic and Roman, is the national religion. To 
declare the Christian religion national, would be to dishonor it in its 
most intimate and essential characteristic. In genei-al terms, it may 
be said, that religion is not, and cannot be, a nilation between the 
individual man and society. It is a relation between him and the Infi- 
nite Being. Would you understand w^hat v/as meant by a national 
conscience ? Religion is no more national than conscience ! A man 
IB no', veritably religious in so far as he is attached to the religion of 
R Nation. If there wei-e but one religion in the world, and all men 
were agreed in professing it, it would be none the less true that each 
•would have the sincere sentiment of religion so far only as he should 
be himself religious with a religion of his own ; that is to say, so far 
only as he would be wedded to that universal religion, even though 
the whole human race ^^nv^ to abjure it. And bO, from whatevei 
point we consider religion, to term it national is to give it a designs' 
t-Jon insignificant or absurd. 
12 



i78 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

Would it be as the arbiter of its truth, or as the judge of its apti- 
iude to form good citizens, that the Legislature would make a religiosi 
eonstitutional ? But, in the first place, are there national truths ' 
[n the second place, can it be ever useful to the public happiness tc 
fetter the conscience of men by a law of the State ? The law unites 
is only in those points where adhesion is essential to social orgaoiza" 
tion. Those points belong only to the superficies of our being. Ih 
thought and conscience men remain isolated ; and their associatic 3 
leaves to them, in these respects, the absolute freedom of the state 
of nature. 

What a spectacle would it be for those early Christians, who, to 
escape the sword of Persecution, were obliged to consecrate their altars 
in caves or amid ruins, — what a spectacle would it be for them, could 
they this day come among us, and witness the glory with which their 
despised religion now sees itself environed ; the temples, the lofty 
steeples bearing aloft the glittering emblem of their faith ; the evan- 
gelic cross, which crowns the summit of all tlie departments of this 
great Empire! What a transporting sight for those who, in 
descending to the tomb, had seen that religion, during their lives, 
honored only in the lurking-places of the forest and the desert \ 
Methinks I hear them exclaim, even as that sti-anger of the old time 
exclaimed, on beholding the encampment of the People of God, — 

" How GOODLY ARE THY TENTS, JaCOB, AND THY TABERNACLES, 

Israel ! " Calm, then, ah ! calm your apprehensions, yc ministers 
'of the God of peace and truth ! Blush rather at your incendiary 
exaggerations, and no longer look at the action of this Assembly 
through the medium of your passions. We do not ask it of you to 
take an oath contrary to the law of your heart ; but we do ask it of 
you, in the name of that God who will judge us all, not to confound 
human opinions and scholastic traditions with the sacred and inviolable 
rules of the Gospel. If it be contrary to morality to act against 
one's conscience, it is none the less so to form one's conscience after 
talse and arbitrary principles. The obligation to form and enlighten 
one's conscience is anterior to the obligation to follow one's conscience. 
The greatest public calamities have been caused by men who believed 
they were obeying God, and saving their own souls. 



19. TO THE FRENCH PEOPLE, 1792. — Original Translation from rergniaud 

Vergniaud, fne most eloquent orator of the celebrated party known as the Girouilists, durmp 
ttic French Revolution, was born at Limoges, in IT.'iS. He was executed 1793. As at: 
sspator, his reu')wri is second only to that of Mirabeau, in France. His speeches werf j)wav>. 
ttsrefully pre])ared beforehand 

Preparations for war are manifest on our frontiers ; and wc hcai 
of renewed plots against liberty. Our armies rerissemble ; icigluy 
movements agitate the Empire. Martial law having become not^es- 
sary, it has seemed to 'is just. But we have succeeded only in brao- 
dishing for a moment the thunderbolt in the eyes of rebellion. Tin' 
Harction of the King has been refused to our deciees. The prineei 



dENATORIAL. TEIir.NIAUD. a79 

Bf Germany make their territory a retreat for the lioiispirators agf/inrt 
jrou. They favor the plots of the emigrants. They furnish them tin 
asj jum — they furniph them gold, arms, horses, and munitions. la 
QOt the patience suicidal which tolerates all this? Doubtless you 
nave renounced all projects of conquest ; but you have not promised tc 
endure such insolent provocations. You have shaken off the yoke of 
your tyrants; but it was not to bend the knee to foreign desfiots. 

But, beware! You are environed by snares. They seek to drive 
you, by disgust or lassitude, to a state of languor fatal to your 
wurage, — or fatal to its righ* direction. They seek to separate you 
from us* they pursue a system of calumny against the National 
Assembly ; they incriminate your Ile\'olution in your eyes. ! 
beware of these attempts at pf nic ! Repel, indignantly, these impos- 
tors, who, while they affect a hypocritical zetil for the Constitution, 
cease not to urge upon you the monarchy I The monarchy ! AVith 
them it is the counter-revclution ! The monarchy ? It is the 
nohility ! The counter-revobition — what is it but taxation, feudality, 
the Bastille, chains and executioners, to punish the sulilinie aspirations 
of liberty ? Wliat is it but foreign satellites in the midst of the 
State ? What, but bankruptcy, engulfing, with your assignats, your 
private fortunes and the national wealth ; what, but the furies of 
fanaticism and of veng'.iance, — assassinations, pillage, and incen- 
diarism, — in short, dfopotism and death, disputing, over rivers of 
blood and heaps of car^-sses, the dominion of your wretched country^ 
The nobility! Tb?t is to say, two classes of men; the one foi 
grandeur, the othe)- V c debasement ! — the one for tyranny, the othei 
for servitude ! Th,-* nobility! Ah! the very xoord is an insult tc 
the human rac. ! 

And yet, it ig in order to secure the success of these conspiracies 
that Europe is now put in motion against you ! Be it so ! B}' a 
solemn declaration must these guilty hopes be crushed. Yes, the 
free representatives of France, unshaken in their attachment to the 
Constitution, will be buried beneath its ruins, before they consent to a 
capitulation at once unworthy of them and of you, lially ! Be 
reassured! They would raise the Nations against you: — they will 
raise only princes. The heart of every People is with you It is 
their cause which you embrace, in defending your own. Ever 
abhorred be war ! It is the greatest of the crimes of a.en ; - - it ia 
the most terrible scourge of humanity ! But, since you are irrcsijjtibly 
foiced to it, yield to the course of your destinies. Who can foiesee 
where will end the punishment of the tyrants who >ill have driven 
rou to take up arms ? 



20. AGAINST THE TERRORISM 0? THE JACOPmS, 1792. —/.i. Orig.Trmu 

The blinded Parisians presume to call themselves free. Alas! t; 
ts tvue they are no longer the slaves of crowned tyrants ; but they ar*. 
'He slaves jf men the most vile, tuid of wretches ».he most det«>s*ab]e 



18& THE STANDARD SP£AK£il. 

men who sontinue to imagine that the Revolution has ^en ma'fe foj 
themselves alone, and who have sent Louis XVI. to the Temple, ;^ 
ii'der that they may be enthroned at the Tuileries I ^ [t is time te. 
oroak these disgraceful chains — to crush this new despotism. It is 
time that those who have made honest men tremble should be made 
to tremble in their turn. I am not ignorant that they have pon'ards 
at their service. On the night of the second of September — that 
night of proscription ! — did they not seek to turn them against 
several deputies, and myself among the number ? Were we not 
denounced to the People as traitors ? Fortunately, it was the People 
into whose hands we fell. The assassins were elsewhere occupied. 
The voice of calumny failed of its effect. If m7/ voice may yet make 
h^vli heard from this place, I call you all to witness, it shall not 
cease to thunder, with all its energy, against tyrants, whether of high 
or low degree. What to me their ruffians and their poniards ? What 
his own life to the i-epresentative of the People, while the safety of 
the country is at stake ? 

When William Tell adjusted the arrow which was to pierce the 
fatal apple that a tyrant had placed on his son's head, he exclaimed, 
" Perish my name, and perish my memory, provided Switzerland may 
be free !" And we, also, — we will say, " Perish the National Assem- 
bly and its memory, provided France may be free ! " t Ay, perish 
the National Assembly and its memory, so by its death it may save 
the Nation from a course of crime that would affix an eternal stigma 
to the French name ; so, by its action, it may show the Nations of 
Europe that, despite the calumnies by which it is sought to dishonor 
France, there is still in the very bosom of that momentary anarchy 
where the brigands have plunged us — there is still in our country 
some public virtue, some respect for humanity left ! Perish the 
National Assembly and its memory, if upon our ashes om more fortu 
nate successors may establish the edifice of a Constitution, which shall 
assure the happiness of France, and consolidate the reign of liberty 
and equality ! 



21. AGAINST WAR, Jan. 13, 11(^2.— Robeapierre. Original Translation. 

Shall we await the orders of the War Office to overturn Thrones ? 
Shall we await the signal of the Court ? In this war against aristo- 
crats and Kings, shall we look to be commanded by these same Patri- 
cians, these eternal favorites of Despotism ? No ! Alone let uf 

• Pronounced Twedree. 

t The deputies here rose, as by an unanimous impulse, and repeated, with euthu 
giasm, tlie oath of Vergniaud. The audience, who occupied the galleries, als' 
mingled their voices with those of the deputies. To appreciate fully ^he intrepid 
aioqnence of this speech, it should be remembered that France was, at that moment 
rirtually under the sanguinary dictatorship of the Jacobin Club ; and that tliet 
proscriptions and massacres threatened to involve all who did not acquiesce in thot 
neasures. Vergniaud soon afterward paid the penalty of his courage; and justified 
bis bold words bj' a bold death on the scaifold. 



ftiSliA'OraAL. ROBESPIERRE. 181 

tiareh Our own leaders let us be ! If it is the M'ai- of rhe Court 
that we mast accept, — the war of the i^Iinisters, of Patriciaa^i sham- 
ming patriotism, — then, alas ! far from anticipating the enfranchiso 
tnent of the world, I shall not even believe that your own libc-rty ie 
secure. Our wisest course now is to defend it against the perfidy of 
those internal enemies who would beguile you with these heroic illu' 
sions. I kive proved that liberty has no more mortal enemy than 
Jvar. I have proved that war, recommended by men of doubtfiii 
Btamp, will be, in the Executive hands, but a means of annihilating the 
Constitution — but the issue of a plot against the Revolution. Tt 
favor these projects of war, under whatever pretext, is, then, to join i 
conspiracy against the Revolution. To recommend confidence in the 
Executive, — to invoke public favor in behalf of the Generals, — is, 
then, to deprive the Revolution of its last security, the vigilance and 
energy of the Nation. 

If, then, the moment of emancipation for the Nations be not yet 
arrived, we should have the patience to await it. If this generation 
be destined only to struggle on in the slough of those vice^s, where 
Despotism has plunged it, — if the theatre of our Revolution be 
.loomed to present to the world no other spectacle than the miserable 
contests of pertidy and imbecility, egotism and ambition, — then to the 
rising generation will be bequeathed the task of purifying the polluted 
earth. That generation shall bring — not the peace of Despotism, 
not the sterile agitations of intrigue, but the torch and the sword to 
consume Thrones, and exterminate oppressors ! Thou art not alien to 
us. more fortunate posterity ! For thee we brave these storms, for 
thee defy the plots of tyranny. Disheartened ofttimes by the obsta- 
cles that surround us, towards thee we yearn ! For by thee shall our 
work be finished ! ! cherish in thy memory the names of the 
martyrs of liberty ! 



22. MORALITY THE BASIS OF CIVILIZED SOCIETY — BELIEF IN GOD THE BASIS 
OF ilORALl'SY .— Robespierre. Orifrinal Trnns/ation. 

The name of Maximili-n Rnbespierre is associated with a!! that is sansruinary and atrocious 
In the history of the Fiviich Revcjlution. Whatever his own practice iDay have been, he had 
the saijacit.v to see tljat tliere is no security in a Repul)lic which is not based on i)rinciple, — 
and no security in princijile wliich is not based on belief in God and the immortality of tlic soul. 
The extrart we here give is from his Report, read to tlie French National Convention, the 7th 
of May, 1T9-1. 

The idea of a Supreme Being and of the immortality of the soul le 
B continual call to justice. It is therefore a social and rejiublicaD 
principle. Who has authorized you to declare that a Deity ^ (-s no^' 
oxist ? O, you who support so arid a doctrine, what advuutnge do 
you expect to derive from the principle that a blind fatality regulates^ 
the affairs of men. and that the soul is nothing but a breath of air 
hnpelled towards the tomb ? Will the idea of nonentity inspire mac 
ivilh more elevated sentiments than that of immortality ? Will it 
awaken more respect for others or himself, more devotion to country 
(Ore courage to resist tyranny, greater contempt fcr pleasure oi 



1S2 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

death ? You, who regret a virtuous friend, can you end ire th« 
rfiougbt that his noblest part has not escaped dis,-^olution ? You. who 
W^eep o^'cr the remains of a child or a wife, are you consoled by tht< 
thought that a handful of dust is all that is left of the beloved object * 
You, the unfortunate, who expire under the stroke of the assassin^ is 
Dot your last sigh an appealto the justice of the Most High? Inno 
eence on the scaffold makes the tyrant turn pale on his triumphal car. 
Would such an ascendency be felt, if the tomb levelled alike the op- 
pressor and the oppressed ? Tlie more a man is gifted with sensibility 
and genius, the more does he attach himself to those ideas which 
aggrandize his being and exalt his aspirations ; and the doctrine ot 
men of this stamp becomes the doctrine of all mankind. A great man, 
a veritable hero, knows his own worth too well to experience comji^la- 
cency in the thought of his nonentity. A wretch, despicable in his own 
eyes, repulsive in those of others, feels that nature but gives him his 
deserts in annihilation. 

Confusion to those who seek, by their desolating doctrines, to extin- 
guish this sublime enthusiasm, and to stifle this moral instinct of the 
People, which is the principle of all great actions ! To 3'^ou, Repre- 
sentatives of the People, it belongs to hasten the triumph of the truths 
we have developed. If we lack the courage to proclaim them, then 
deep, indeed, must be the depravity, with which we are environed 
Defy the insensate clamors of presumptuous ignorance and of stubborn 
hypocrisy ! Will posterity credit it, that the vanquished factions have 
carried their audacity so far as to charge us with lukewarmness and 
aristocracy for having restored to the Nation's heart the idea of the 
Divinity, the fundamental principle of all morality? Will it l>e 
believed that they have dared, even in this place, to assert that we 
have thereby thrown back human reason centuries in its progress I 
0, be not surprised that the wretches, leagued against us, are so 
eager to put the hemlock to our lij)s ! But, before we quaff it, we 
will save the country ! 



•!3. KOBESPIERRE'S LAST SVEECH. — Original Translation. 

The day iifl'ir this spi" r',— i. !i\- r-il July •2Sth, 1794, and addressed to an assembly bent ou 
bis destruction, — Robt-i- uted, at the early age of thirty-five, under cireuiiistancea 

of accumulati:d hornr. i Aiirnin<rto rulers \v)io would cement even the best ot 

Governtoenta iviih blond. l;ni- -; m r:-.''s character is still an enigma ; some retrardi.ifr him as 
an hocist fan. itic, and others as a crafty demagogue. Perhaps the traits of either predomi- 
nated at times. •'• Destitute," says Lamartine, " of exterior .irraces, and of that gift of extempo 
BSneous speakmg which pours forth the unpremeditated insinrations of natural elociuence, Robes- 
fkne had taken so muoti pains with himself, — he had meditated so niitch, written and erased 
SB much, — he had so often braved the inattention and the sarcasms of his audiences. — that, )3 
the end, he succeeded in giving warmth and su])pleness to liis style, and in transforming hii 
whole person, despite his stilT and meagre figure, his shrill voice and abrupt gesticulation, into 
Kn engine of eloquence, of conviction and of passion." 

The enemies of the Republic call me tyrant ! Were I such the)i 
would gi'ovel at my feet. I should gorge them with gold, — I should 
grant them impunity for their crimes, — and they Mould be grateful 
Were I such, the Kint^s we have vanquished, far fi'om denouncing 
Rrbespierre. would lend me their guilty support. There would be a 



SENATORIAL. TRELAT. 18h 

tfcvenant between tham and me. Tyranny must have tools. But the 
enemies of tyranny, — whither does their irath tend? To the tomb, 
and to immortality ! What tyrant is my protector ? To what fa^'tion 
do I l)elong? Your.^tilves ! \Y\vdt faction, since the beginning cf the 
Revolution, has crushed and annihilated so many detected traitors* 
You, — tlie People, — our principles, — are that faction ! A flictioi! 
to which I am devoted, and against which all the scoundrelism of the 
day is banded ! 

The confirmation of the Republic h'^s been my object ; and ] know 
that the Republic can be established only on the eternal basis of 
morality. Against me, and against those who hold kindred principles, 
the league is formed. IMy life ? .' my life, I abandon without a 
regret ! 1 have seen the Past ; and I fori«ee the Future. What 
friend of his country would wish to survive the moment when he could 
no longer serve it, — when he could no longer defend innocence against 
oppression ? Wherefore should I continue in an order of things, 
where intrigue eternally triumphs over truth ; where justice is 
mocked ; where passions the most abject, or fears the most absurd, 
override the sacred interests of humanity ? In witnessing the inulti- 
tude of vices which the torrent of the Revolution has rolled in turbid 
communion with its civic virtues, I confess that I have sometimes 
feared that I should be sullied, in the eyes of posterity, by the impure 
neighborhood of unprincipled men, who had thrust themselves into 
association with the sincere friends of humanity ; and I rejoice that 
these conspirators against my country have now, by their reckless 
rage, traced deep the line of demarcation between themselves and all 
true men. 

Question history, and learn how all the defenders of liberty, in all 
times, have been overwhelmed by calumny. But their traducers died 
also. The good and the bad disappear alike from the earth ; but in 
very different conditions. 0, Frenchmen ! 0, my countrymen ! Let 
not your enemies, with their desolating doctrines, degrade your souls, 
and enervate your virtues ! No, Chaumette,* no ! Death is not " an 
eternal sleep " I Citizens ! efface from the tomb that motto, graven by 
?acrilegious hands, which spreads over all nature a funereal crape, takea 
from oppressed innocence its support, and affronts the beneficent dispen- 
sation of death ! Inscribe rather thereon these words : " Death is the 
coramcnceraent of inniiortality ! " I leave to the oppressors of the 
People a terrible testament, which I proclaim with the independence 
!::e fit ting one whose career is so neai-ly ended ; it is the awful truth, — • 
■ Thou shalt die ! " 



24. ADDRESS TO HIE CHAMBER OF PEERS, 1835 — Triilat. 

I HAVE long felt that it was necessary — that it was inevitable 
— we should meet face to face : we do so now. G(;ntlemen Peers, 

• Chaumette was % member of the Convention, who was opposed +o the public 
rficoMitioa of a <iod 'v<\ a future state. 



184 THE STANDARD SPEAKER 

Dur mutual enmity is uot the birth of yesterday. In 1814, in commos 
with m;iny, many others, I cursed the power which called you oi 
your predecessors to help it in chaining down liberty. In 1815 J 
took up arms to oppose the return of your gracious master of that day 
In 1830 I did my duty in promoting the successful issue of the event 
which then occurred ; and eight days after the Revolution, 1 again 
took up my musket, though but little in the habit of handling warlike 
instruments, and went to the post which Greneral Lafayette had as- 
signed us for the purpose of marching against you personally. Gentle- 
men Peers ! It was in the presence of my friends and myself that 
one of your number was received ; and it is not impossible that we had 
some influence in occasioning the very limited success of his embassy. 
It was then he who appeared before us, imploring, beseeching, with 
tears in his eyes ; it is now our turn to appear before you, — but we do 
so without imploring, or beseeching, or weeping, or bending the knee. 
We had utterly vanquished your Kings ; and, they being gone, you 
had nothing left. As for you, you have not vanquished the People; 
and whether you hold us as hostages for it or not, our personal 
position troubles us very, very little ; — rely upon that. 

Your prisons open to receive within their dungeons all who retain 
a free heart in their bosoms. He who first placed the tri-colored fliig 
on the palace of your old Kings — they who drove Charles the Tenth 
from Fi-ance — are handed over to you as victims, on account of youl 
new King'. Your sergeant has touched with his black wand the 
courageous deputy who first, among you all, opened his door to the 
Revolution. The whole thing is summed up in these facts : It is the 
Revolution struggling with the counter-revolution ; the Past with the 
Present, with the Future; selfishness with fraternity; tyranny with 
liberty. Tyranny has on her side bayonets, prisons, and your 
embroidered collars. Gentlemen Peers. Liberty has God on her side, 
— the Power which enlightens the reason of man, and impels him 
forward in the great work of human advancement. It will be seen 
with whom victory will abide. This will be seen, — not to-morrow, not 
the day after to-morrow, nor the day after that, — it may not be seen 
by us at all ; — what matters that ? It is the human race which 
engagxis our thoughts, and not ourselves. Everything manifests that 
the hour of deliverance is not fai' distant. It will then be seea 
whether God will permit the lie to be given Him with impunity. 

Gentlemen Peers, I did not stand up with the purpose of defending 
myself. You are my political enemies, not my judges. In a fair 
irial, it is necessary that the judge and the accused should understand, 
■ — should, to a wrfain extent, sj^mpathize with each other. In the 
present case, this is quite out of the question. We do not \'(^i\ alike 
we do not speak the same language. The land we inhabit, humanity 
Itself, its Ia\V3, its requirements, duty, religion, the sciences, the artfej 
ioduMry, all that constitutes society, — Heaven, earth, — nothing appears 
bo us in the same light that it does to you. . There is a wa*-M bctweoD 
OH You may condemn me ; but I accept you not a^ judges, for you 
*ve^ iinablo to c^mnrehnnd nie 



SENATORIAL. — VE TOCQOEVILU':. 185 



aft. THIC ESTABLISIIMEXX OF THE REPUBLIC, ISiS. — Lan^r tine. 

We establish the Republic. The Republic ! It is the Government 
(.hat most needs the continued inspiration and benediction of God; for; 
Df the vcuson of the People should be obscured or misled, there is nc 
jongcr a sovereign. There is an interregnum, anarchy, death. In 
oulei that a Government may be durable, and worthy of the sanction 
of religion, it must contain a principle that is true, that is divine, thai 
is best adapted to the welfare of the many. Without this, the Con- 
stitution is a dead letter ; it is nothing more than a collection of laws , 
it is without soid ; it no longer lives ; it no longer produces fruit. The 
new princijile of the Republic is political equality among all classes of 
citizens. This principle has for its exponent universal suffrage ; for 
its result, the sovereignty of all ; for its moral consequence, fraternity 
among all. We reign according to the tiill measure of our reason, of 
our intelligence, of our virtue. We are all sovereigns over ourselv&s, 
and of the Republic. But, to draught a Constitution, and to swear to 
it, is not all. A People is needed to execute it. 

Citizens ! all progress requires effort. Every effort is painful, and 
attended with painful embarrassments. Political transformations are 
laborious. Tlie People are the artificers of their o-wn future. Let 
them reflect upon that. The future observes and awaits them ! Shame 
upon the cowards who would draw back ! Prudence to the inconsid- 
erate, who would precipitate societj/ into the unknown ! Glory to the 
good, to the wise, to the persevering! — may God be with them ! 



ta. DEMOCRACY ADVERSE TO SOCIALISM. — ^/earis De TocqueviUe. Orig. Tram 

Democracy ! — Socialism ! Why profess to associate what, in the 
nature of things, can never be united ? Can it be, Gentlemen, that 
this whole grand movement of the French Revolution is destined to 
terminate in that form of society which the Socialists have, with so 
much fervor, depicted ? A society, marked out with compass and 
rule ; in which the State is to charge itself with everything, and the 
individual is to be nothing ; in which society is to absorb all force, all 
life; and in which the only end assigned to n)an is his personal com- 
fort ' What ! was it for such a society of beavers and of bees, a society 
rather of skilful animals than of men free and civilized, — was it for 
such, that the French Revolution was accomplished ? Not so ! Il 
jFifl for a greater, a more sacred end ; one more worthy of humanity. 

But Socialism professes to be the legitimate development of Democ- 
racy. I shall not search, as many have done, into the true etymology 
if this word Democracy. I shall not, as gentlemen did yestei'day 
traverse the garden of Greek roots, to find the derivation of this word 
I shall point you to Democracy, where I have seen it, living, active 
triumphant ; in the only country in the world where it truly exists 
H'here it has been able to establish and maintain, even to the present 
time something araud and durable to claim our admiration, — in the 



186 THE SlANDARD SPEAKiSR. 

New World, — in America, — There shall you see a People, anion^ 
whom all conditions of men are more on an equality even than auiong 
ns ; where the social state, the manners, the laws, — everything ig 
democratic ; where all emanates from the People, and returns to the 
People ; and where, at the same time, every individual enjoys a greater 
amount of liberty, a more entire independence, than in any other part 
of the world, at any period of time; — a country, I repeat it, rssentiallj 
Democratic ; the only Democracy in the wide world at this day ; and 
ihe only Ptepublic, truli/ Democratic, which we know of in history. 
And in this Ptepublic you will look in vain for Socialism. Not only 
have the theories of the Socialists gained no possession there ol the 
public mind, but they have played so trifling a part in the discussions 
and affairs of that great Nation, that they have not even reached the 
dignity of being feared. 

America is at this day that country, of the whole world, where the 
sovereignty of Democracy is most practical and complete ; and it is at 
the same time that where the doctrines of the Socialists, which you 
pretend to find so much in accordance with Democracy, are the least 
in vogue ; the country, of the whole universe, where the men sustain- 
ing those doctrines would have the least chance of making an impres- 
sion. For myself personally, I do not see, I confess, any great objec- 
tion to the emigration of these proselyting gentlemen to America ; but 
[ warn them that thev will not find there any field for their labors. 

No, Gentlemen, Democracy and Socialism are the antipodes of each 
other. While Democracy extends the sphere of individual independ- 
ence, Socialism, contracts it. Democracy develops a man's whole 
manhood , Socialism makes him an agent, an instrument, a cipher. 
Democracy and Socialism assimilate on one point only, — the equality 
which they introduce ; but mark the difference : Democracy seeks 
equality in liberty, while Socialism seeks it in servitude and con- 
straint. 



2f. PRACTICAL EELIGIOUS INSTKUCTION.— Ort^ma/ Translation from Victor Huge 

The question is, shall we confide the public education of youth to a 
clerical party, independent of the State, — or to the State, independent 
of a clerical party. Free instruction — but free instruction under 
the superintendence of the State, and not of a sect — is what I would 
see It is not to the clerical party that I would intrust it. To thaf 
pai ty I now address myself, and I say : In the proposition befoi'e the 
Nadcnal Assembly, we see your hand ; ana, to be candid, we distrust 
you. The proposed law is a law with a m.ask. Under the disguise 
oi" liberty, It aims at subjection. But think not that I confound your 
doctrines, your ambitions, your intrigues, — think not that I confound 
i/ou, the clerical party, — with the Church, any more than I confound 
the mistletoe with the oak. You aj-e the parasites of the Church, — 
the diseaiie of the Church. Call her not your mother, when you would 
make her your slave. Leave her, this venerable Church, this vsnora 



SENATORIAL. 



18" 



ole mottiPi to her 'solitude, her abnegation, her humilitjf All thew 
jompose b;,r grandeur. Her solitude will attract the crowd , her 
ibncgation is her j)ower ; her humility is her uiaje.^ty. 

You sueak of religious instruction. Know you what it is, — that 
veritable rdiirious instruction, which must ever command our homage 
without awakening our distrust ? It is the Sister of Ciiarity at tho 
pillow of the dying. It is tlie Brother of Mercy rans(jming the slave 
It is Vincent de Paul rescuing the foundling. It is the Bishop ol 
Mai-seilles ministering to the [-Jague-stricken. It is the Archbishop 
of Paris entering with a smile that formidable Faubourg of St. 
Autoine,* elevating his crucifix above the smoke of civil war, and 
counting it little loss to encounter death, so that he might bring peace ! 
This is the true, the real religious instruction, — profound, efficacious, 
popular ; and which, happily for religion and for humanity, makes 
even more Christians than you unmake ! 



28. NECESSITY OF KELlGIOii. — Original Translation from Victor Hugo. 

Gentlemen, it is not because I would prevent religious instruction, 
but because I would prevent the union of Church and State, that I 
op{X)se this Bill. So far from wishing to proscribe religious instruc- 
tion, I maintain that it is more essential at this day than ever. The 
more a man grows, the more he ought to believe. As he draws nearer 
to God, the bettor ought he to recognize His existence. It is .the 
wretched tendency of our times to base all calculations, all efforts, on 
this life only, — to crowd everything into this narrow span. In lim- 
iting man's end and aim to this terrestrial and material existence, we 
aggravate all his miseries by the teri'ible negation at its close. We 
add to the burthens of the unfortunate the insupportable weight of a 
hopeless hereafter. God's law of suffering we convert, by our unbe- 
lief, into hell's law of despair. Hence these deplorable social convul- 
bions. 

That I am one of those who desire — I will not say with sincer- 
ity merely, but, with inexpressible ardor, and by all possible means — 
to ameliorate the material condition of the suffering cuisses in this 
life, no one in this Assembly will doubt. But the first and greatest 
of ameli(ji-ations is to impart hope. How do our finite miseries dwindle, 
in the presence of an infinite hope ! Our first duty, then, whether WQ 
be clergjnnen or laynten, bishops or legislators, priests or writers, is 
not merely to direct all our social energies to the abatement of physi- 
psal misery, but, at the same time, to lift evei-y drooping head towards 
Heaven — to fix the attention and the faith of every human soul on 
that ulterior life, where justice shall preside, where justice shall bo 
awarded ! Let us proclaim it aloud to all, No one shall unjustly or 
needlessly suffer ! Death is restitution. The law of the material world 
is gravitation ; of the moral world, equity. At the end of all, reap- 
p«ar.s God Let us not forget — let us everywhere teach it — Thenn 

• Pronounced Foboorg of San-tamn-twauhnn. 



188 THE STANDARD SPEA'KER. 

tvoiJd be iiu (Lgnity in life, it would not be worth the holding, if lu 
death we wh(»lly perish. A.11 that lightens labor, and sanctifies toil, — 
all that renders man brave, good, wise, patient, benevolent, just, hum- 
ble, and, at the same time, great, worthy of intelligence, worthy of 
liberty, — is to have perpetually before him the vision of a LHitler world 
darting its rays of celestial splendor through the dark shadows of this 
present life. 

For myself, since Chance will have it that words of such gravitj 
should at this time fall from lips of such little authority, let me be per 
mitted here to say, and to proclaim from the elevation of this Tribune, 
that I believe, that I most profoundly and reverently believe, in that 
better world. It is to me more real, more substantial, more positive in 
its eifects, than this evanescence which we cling to and call life. It is 
unceasingly before my eyes. I believe in it with all the strength of 
my convictions ; and, after iDany struggles, and much study and expe- 
rience, it is the supreme certainty of my reason, as it is the suprema 
consolation of my soul ! 

I desire, therefore, most sincerely, strenuously and fervently, thai 
there should be religious instruction ; but let it be the instruction of 
the Gospel, and not of a party. Let it be sincere, not hypocritical 
Let it have Heaven, not earth, for its end 1 



29. UNIVERSAL SUFFRAGE, Mat 20, 1850. — Ficior ffu^o. Original Translation. 

Universal suffrage ! — w hat is it but the overthrow of violence and 
brute force — the end of the. material aiid the beginning of the moral 
fact ? What was the Revolution of February intended to establish in 
France, if not this ? And now it is proposed to abolish this sacred 
right ! And what is its abolition, but the reintroduction of the right 
of insurrection ? Ye Ministers and men of State, who govern, where- 
fore do you venture on this mad attempt ? I will tell you. It is 
because the People have deemed worthy of their votes men whom 
you judge worthy of your insults ! It is because the People have pre- 
sumed to compare your promises with your acts ; because they do not 
End your Administration altogether sublime ; because they have dared 
peaceably to instruct you through the ballot-box ! Therefore it is, that 
your anger is roused, and that, under the pretence that Society is in 
peril, you seek to chastise the People, — to take them in hand ! And 
30, like that maniac of whom History tells, you beat the ocean with 
rods ! And so you launch at us your poor little laws, furious but 
feeble ! And so you defy the spirit of the age, defy the good sonse 
jf the public, defy the Democracy, and tear your unfortunate finger- 
nails against the granite of universal suffrage I 

Go on, Gentlemen ! Proceed ! Disfranchise, if you will, three 
millions of voters, four millions, nay, eight millions out of nine ! Get 
rid of all these ! It will not matter. What jou cannot get rid of is 
jr<LUT own fatal incapacity and ignorance ; your own antipaf.hy for the 



8ENA7.UK1AL. — Ht ;0. iSS 

People, and theirs for you ! What you cannot get rid )f is the iLme 
that niiirchtis, and the hour that strikes; is the earth that revolves, 
ih" onwanl movement of ideas, the crippled pace of prejudices ; th'j 
widening gulf between you and the age, between you and the coming 
generation, between you and the spirit of liberty, between you and the 
Bpirit oi' philosophy I What you cannot get rid of is the great fact 
that you and the Nation pass on opposite sides ; that what is to you 
the East is to her the West; and that, while you turn your buck on the 
Future, this great People of France, their foreheads all bathed in light 
from the day-spring of a new humanity, turn their back on the Past ! 
Ah ! Whether you will it or no, the Past is passed. Your law is 
null, void and dead, even before its birth : because it is not just ; 
because it is not true ; because, while it goes furtively to plunder the 
poor man and the weak of his right of suffrage, it encounters the with- 
ering glance of a Nation's probity and sense of right, before which your 
work of darkness shall vanish ; becaase, in the depths of the conscience 
of every citizen, — of the humblest as well as the highest, — there is a 
sentiment sublime, sacr<}d, indestructible, incorruptible, eternal, — the 
Right I This sentiment, which is the very clement of reason in man, 
the granite of the human conscience, — this Right, is the rock upon 
which shall split and go to pieces the iniquities, the hypocrisies, the 
bad laws and bad governments, of the world. There is the obstacle, 
concealed, invisible, — lost to view m the scul's profoundest deep, but 
eternally present and abiding, — against which you shall always strike, 
and which you shall never wear away, do what you will ! I repeat it, 
your efibrts are in vain. You cannot deracinate, you cannot shake it. 
You might sooner tear up the eternal Rock from the bottom of the 
sea, than the Right from the heart of the People ! 



30. LIBERTY OF THE PKE^S, ISoO. — Original Translation from Victor Hugn. 

Having restricted universal suffrage and the right of public meet- 
ings, you now wage war against the liberty of the Press. In the 
crisis through which we are passi»,g, it is asked, " Who is making all 
this trouble ? Who is the culprit ? Whom must we punish ? " The 
alarm party in Europe say, " It is France! " In France they say, 
" It is Paris ! " In Paris they say, " It is the Press ! " Tlie man 
of observation and reflection says, " The culprit is not the Press ; it 
is not Paris ; it is not France ; — it is the human mind ! " Yes, it is 
the human mind, which has made the Nations what they are ; which. 
from the beginning, has scrutinized, examined, discussed, debated, 
doubted, contradicted, probed, alfirmed, and pursued without ceasing, 
the solution of the problem, eternally placed before the creature by the 
Creator. It is the human mind which, continually persecuted, 
opposed, driven back, headed off, has disappeared only to appear again ; 
and, passing from one labor to another, has taken successively, froca 
»ge to ago, the figure of all the great agitators. It is the hu.o.... 



,'90 THE ST.ANDABD SPEAKKR. 

niincl. which was named John Huss, and which did not die on the 
funeral-pilo of Constance ; which was named Luther, and shook ortho- 
doxy to its centre ; which was named Voltaire, and shook faith ; which 
was named Mirabeau, and shook royalty It is the human mind, 
which, since history began, has transformed societies and government? 
according to a law progressively acceptable to the reason, — wcich hag 
been theocracy, aristocracy, monarchy, and which is to-day demuo 
racy. It is the human mind, which has been Babylon, Tyre, Jerusa- 
lem, Athens, and which to-day is Paris ; which has been, turn bj 
turn, and sometimes all at once, error, illusion, schism, protestation 
truth ; it is the human mind, which is the great pastor of the genera- 
tions, and which, in short, has always marched towards the Just, the 
Beautiful and the True, enlightening multitudes, elevating life, raising 
more and more the head of the People towards the Right, and the 
head of the individual towards God ! 

And now I address myself to the alarm party, — not in this Chamber, 
but wherever they may be, throughout Europe, — and I say to them : 
Consider well what you would do ; reflect on the task that you have 
undertaken ; and measure it well before you commence. Suppose you 
should succeed : when you have destroyed the Press, there will i-emain 
something more to destroy, — Paris ! When you have destroyed 
Paris, there will remain France. When you have destroyed France, 
thtjre will remain the human mind. I repeat it, let this great Euro- 
pean alarm party measure the immensity of the task which, in theii 
heroism, they would attempt. Though they annihilate the Press to 
the last journal, Paris to the last pavement, France to the last ham- 
let, they will have done nothing. There will remain yet for them to 
destroy something always paramount, above the generations, and, 
as it were, between man and his Maker ; — something that has written 
all the books, invented all the arts, discovered all the worlds, founded 
all the civilizations ; — something which will always grasp, under the 
form of Revolutions, what is not yielded under the form of progress ; 
— something which is itself unseizable as the light, and unapproachable 
is the sun, — and which calls itself the human mind ! 



31. A BEl'UBLIC OR A UOH ARCHY f — Original Translation from Victor Hugo 
On the question of revising the French Constitution, 1851. 

Gentlemen, let us come at the pith of this debate. It is not our 
gide of the House, but you, the Monarchists, who have provoked it. 
The question, a Republic or a IMonarcliy, is before us. No one haa 
any longer the power or the right to elude it. For more than two 
jrears, this question, secretly and audaciously agitated, has harassed 
^he country. It weighs upon the Present. It clouds the Future, 
fhe moment has come for our deliverance from it. Yes, the momen< 
has come for us to regard it face to face — to see what it is made of 
Now, then let us show our cards ! No more concealment ! I affirnr 
•hen, in the name of the eternal laws of human n\0Kility, that Mor 



BENATOUIAL. — HUGO. 19J 

»rch y is an historica.J fact, and nothing nioi-e. Now, when the fact is 
extinct, nothing survives, and all is told. It is otherwise with right. 
Right, even when it no longer \ia?, fact to sustain it, — even when it 
no longer exerts a material authority, — preserves still its mora] 
authority, and is always right. Hence is it that, in an overthrown 
Republic, there remains a right, while in a fallen Monarchy there 
remains only a ruin. Cease then, ye Legitimists, to ap[)eal to ua 
from the position of r"ght ! Before the right of the People, which ia 
sovereignty, there is no other right iTut the right of the individ lal, 
which is liberty. Beyond that, all is a chimera. To talk of the 
kingly right in this great age of ours, and at this great Tribune, is ta 
pronounce a word void of meaning. 

But, if you cannot speak in tke name of right, will you speak in the 
name of fact ? Will you say that political stability is the offspring 
of hereditary royalty, — and that Royalty is better than Democracy 
for a State ? What ! You would have those scenes renewed, those 
experiences recommenced, which overwhelmed kings and princes: 
the feeble, like Louis the Sixteenth ; the able and strong, like Louis 
Philippe ; whole families of royal lineage, — high-born women, saintly 
widows, innocent children ! And of those lamentable experiences you 
have not had enough ? You would have yet more ? But you are 
without oity, Royalists, — or without memory ! We ask your mercy 
on these unfortunate royal families. Good Heavens ! This Place, 
which you traverse daily, on your way to this House, — does it, then, 
teach you nothing ? — when, if you but stamped on the pavement, two 
paces from those <ieadly Tuileries, which you covet still, — but stamped 
on that f.ital pavement, — you could conjure up, at will, the scaffold 
from wiiich the old Monarchy was plunged into the tomb, or the cab 
in which the new royalty escaped into exile ! 

Ah, men of ancient parties ! you will learn, ere long, that at this 
present time, — in this nineteenth century, — after the scaifold of 
Louis the Sixteenth, after the downfall of Napoleon, after the exile of 
Charles the Tenth, after the flight of Louis Philippe, after the French 
Revolution, in a word, — that is to say, after this renewal, complete, 
absolute, prodigious, of principles, convictions, opinions, situations, 
influences, and tacts, — it is the Republic which is solid ground, and 
tho Monarchy which is the perilous venture ! 



32. THE TWO NAPOJuEOJ^S. —Original Translation from rictor Hugo. 

The monarchy of glory! There are a class of monarchists in 
France who now speak to us of a monarchy of glory. LegitiiiiacJ 
IS impossible. Monarchy by right divine, the monarchy of principle 
is dead ; but there is another monarchy, the monarcliy of glory, — tho 
Empire, we are told, which is not only possible, but necessary. This 
glory, where is it ? What are its elements ? Of what is it compO'?cd ' 
[ am curious to witness the glory which this present Oovenment c;ai: 
»'bow. What do we see? All our liberties, one after another 
•in trapped and bound ; universil suffrage mutilated and betrayed 



1^*1 THE STANDARD SPEAREh. 

socialist maniffistoes terminating in a Jesuitical policy , and for a Gov 
ernment, one immense intrigue, — history, perchance, n\1\ call it a 
conspiracy, — by which the Republic is to be made the basis of the 
il^mpire through the Bonapartist free-masonry of five hundred thousand 
office-holdei"S ; every reform postponed or smothered ; burdensome taxes 
maintained or reestablished; the Press shackled; juries packed; too 
little justice and too much police ; misery at the foot, anarchy at the 
head, of the social state. Abroad, the wreck of the Roman Republic 
Austria — that is to say, the gallows — with her foot upon Hungary 
upon Lombardy, upon Milan, upon Venice , a latent coalition of Kings, 
waiting for an opportunity ; our diplomacy dumb, I will not say an 
accomplice ! This is our situation. France bows her head ; Napoleon 
quivers with shame in his tomb ; and five or six thousand hirelings 
shout, " Vive Vernpereur ! " * 

But nobody dreams of the Empire, you tell us. What mean, then, 
those cries of Vive Vempereur ? and who pays for them ? What 
mi^ans this mendicant petition for a prolongation of the President's 
powers? What is -n prolan jiation ? The Consulate for life! And 
where leads the Consulate lor life ? To the Empire ! Gentlemen, 
here is an intrigue. We will let in day-light upon it, if you please. 
France must not wake up, one of these fine mornings, and find her- 
seJ< emperor-ridden, without knowmg why. An emperor! Let us 
coijsider the subject a little. Because there was once a man who 
gained the battle of Marengo, and who reigned, must the man who 
gained only the battle of Satory reign also ? Because, ten centuries 
ago, Charlemagne, after forty years of gloi-y, let fall on the face of 
the globe a sceptre and a sword of such proportions that no one dared 
to touch them ; and because, a thousand years later, — for it requires 
a gestation of a thousand years to produce such men, — another geniu-S 
appeared, who took up that sword and sceptre, and stood up erect 
u iier the weight; a man wlio chained Revolution in France, and j 

unohained it in the rest of Europe ; who added to his name the bril- 
liant synonyms of Rivoli, Jeiia,! Essling, Friedland, Montmirail ; \ 
oecause this man, after ten years of a glory almost fabulous in its 
grandeur, let fall, in his turn, that sceptre and sword which had ac- 
complished such colossal exploits, — you would come, — you, yoxi would 
presume, after him, to catch tliem up as he did, — he. Napoleon, after 
Charlemagne, — and grasp in your feeble hands this sceptre of the 
giants, this sword of the Titans ! \Vhat to do ? 

What ! after Augustus must we have August ulas ? Because we have 
fead a Napoleon the Great, must we now have Napoleon the Little ^ 



aa THE END OF GOVERNMENT, \&i\.—John Py?n. Born, 1583 ; died, 1643. 

My Lords, many days have been spent m maintenance of the 
unpeachinent of the Earl of Straiford by the House of Commoas, 
whereby he stands charged with higli treason ; and your Lordships 
iave heard his defence with patience, and with as much favor fis ju.* 

• Prnnounced Vf/m L'nunjiphrehr + Yaifnnh t !ifnno-hmprrnh »eJ 



eENATORIVL. ■ EARL OF STRAtFORD. 193 

tice Tvill allow. We have passed through our evidence and tho 
result is, that ■■' remains clearly proved that the Earl of Strafford hath 
jndeavored by his words, actions and counsels, to subvert the ftinda- 
Doental lawsof ;^]iigland and Ireland, and to introduce an arbitrary and 
tyrannical government. This will best appear if the quality of the 
offence be examined by that law to which he himself appea.od, that 
univcrsjil. that supreme law, — Salus PCpuIi, — the welfare of the 
People ! This is the element of all laws, out of which they Lre 
derived ; the end of all laws, to which they are designed, and in 
which they are perfected. The offence comprehends all other offences 
Here you shall find several treasons, murders, rapines, oppressions 
perjuries. The earth hath a seminary virtue, whereby it doth pro 
duce all herbs and plants, and other vegetables ; there is in this crime 
a seminary of all evils hurtful to a State ; and, if you consider the 
reason of it, it must needs be so. 

The law is that which puts a difference betwixt good and evil, — 
betwixt just and unjust. If you take away the law, all things will 
tall into a confusion. Every man will become a law to himself, which, 
in the depraved condition of human nature, must needs produce many 
groat enormities. Lust will become a law, and envy will become a 
law ; covetousness and ambition will become laws ; and what dictates, 
what decisions, such laws will produce, may easily be discerned in the 
late government of Ireland ! The law is the safeguard, the custody 
of all private interests. Your honors, your lives, your liberties and 
eslates, are all in the keeping of the law. Without this, every man 
hath a like right to everything ; and such is the condition into which 
the Irish were brought by the Earl of Strafford ! 

This arbitrary and tyrannical power, which the Earl of Sti-afford 
did exercise with his own person, and to which he did advise his 
Majesty, is inconsistent with the peace, the wealth, the prosperity, of a 
Nation ; it is destructive to justice, the mother of peace ; to industry, 
the spring of wealth ; to valor, which is the active virtue whereby 
only the prosperity of a Nation can be produced, confirmed, and 
enlarged. It is the end of government, that virtue should be cherished, 
vice suppressed ; but, where this arbiti'ary and unlimited power is set 
up, a way is open, not only for the security, but for the advancement 
and encouragement, of evil. It is the end of Government, that all 
accidents and events, all counsels and designs, should be improved to 
the public good ; but this arbitrary power vould dispose all to tho 
triintonance of itself 

34. THE EARL OF STRAFFORD'S DEFENCE. 

fh 1 following manly and patlietic speech is extracted from the two closing; iddresses of 
Thomas Wentwtrth, Earl of StralTonl, on his impeaclMneiit before the House of LotJs, in West 
minster Hall, 1641. He was tried for hipli treascm, in endeavoring "to subvert the ancient and 
^^ndanu'ntal laws of the realm, and to intrnducH' arliitrary and tyraimical jjovernment.'' He' 
iras found guilty, and was executed the 12th of May, 1641, in his 47th year. 

My Lords, it is hard to be questioned upon a law which cannot 1>8 
shown. Where hath this fire lain hid so many hundred years, with 
13 



£94 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

out "moke to discover it, till it thus bursts forth to consume me and 
my children ? It will be wisdom for yourselves, for your posterity, 
nd for the whole Kingdom, to cast into the fire these bloody and mys- 
terious volumes of constructive and arbitrary treason, as the primitive 
Christians did their books of curious arts, and betake yourselves to 
>he plain letter of the law and statute, that telleth us what is und 
what is not treason, without being ambitious to be more learned in th« 
art of killing than our forefathers. It is now two hundred and forty 
years since any man was touched for this alleged crime, to this height, 
before myself. Let us not awaken these sleeping lions to our destruc- 
tion, by taking up a few musty records that have lain by the wall so 
many ages, forgotten or neglected. May your Lordships please not 
to add this to my other misfortunes ; let not a precedent be derived 
from me, so disadvantageous as this will be, in its consequences to tho 
whole kingdom. 

My Lords, the words for which I am here arraigned were not 
wantonly or unnecessarily spoken, but they were spoken in full Council, 
ivhefe, by the duty of my oath, I was obliged to speak according to 
\ny heart and conscience, in all things concerning the King's service. 
[f I had forborne to speak what I conceived to be for the benefit of 
the King and People, I had been perjured towards Almighty God. 
And, for delivering my mind openly and freely, shall I be in danger 
of my life as a traitor ? If that necessity be put upon me, I thank 
God, by His blessing, 1 have learned not to stand in fear of him who 
can only kill the body. If the question be, whether I must be traitor 
to man or perjured to God, I will be faithful to my Creator ; and, 
vrhatsoever shall befall me from popular rage, or from my own weak- 
ness, I must leave it to tha,t Almighty Being, and to the justice and 
honor of my judges. 

My Lords, you are born to great thoughts ; you are nursed up for 
the great and weighty employments of the Kingdom. But, if it be 
once admitted that a councillor, delivering his opinions with others at 
the council-table, under an oath of secrecy and faithfulness, shall be 
Drought into question upon some misapprehension or ignorance of law, 
— if every word that he speaks from a sincere and noble intention 
shall be drawn against him for the attainting of him, his children and 
1 (osterity, — I know not any wise or noble person of fortune who will, 
upon such perilous and unsafe terms, adventure to be councillor to 
the King! Opinions may make a heretic, but that they make a 
traitor I have never heard till now. 

]My Lords, what I forfeit myself is nothing ; but that my indiscre- 
tion should extend to my posterity, woundeth me to the very soul, 
Vou will pardon my infirmity ; something I should have added, bul 
am not able, therefore let it pass. Now, my Lords, for myself, 1 
aave been, by the blessing of Almighty God, taught that the afflio- 
Tiions of this present life are not to be compared to the eternal weight 
■•'f glory which shall be revealed hereafter And so. my Lords, evfty 



SENATORIAL. — PULTENEY. 1C5 

no \nth all tran(}uillity of mind, I freely submit myself to yjar judg' 
ment ; and, whether that judgment be of lite or death, Te Deum lav 
dcrnius ! 

35. ON REDUCING THE ARMY, 1732. — irm. PuUeney. Born, 1682 j ditU. 17W 

6iR, we have heard a great deal about Parliamentary armies ^nd 
alM^ut an army continued from year to year. I always /tave been, Sir, 
and always s/kiII be, against a standing army of any kind. To nie it 
is a terrible thing. Whether under that of a Parliamentary or any 
other designation, a standing army is still a standing army, whatever 
name it be called by. They are a body of men distinct from the body 
of the People. They are governed by different laws; and bljnd obedi- 
ence, and an entire submission to the orders of their conunanding 
officer, is their only principle. It is indeed impossible that the liber- 
ties of the People can be preserved in any country where a numerous 
btanding army is kept up. By the military law, the administration 
of jastice is so quick, and the punishment so severe, that neither officer 
nor soldier dares offer to dispute the orders of his supreme commander. 
If an officer were commanded to pull his own fiither out of this House, 
he must do it. Inunediate death would be the sure consequence of the 
least grumbling. And if an officer were sent into the Court of 
Request, accompanied by a body of musketeers with screwed bayonets, 
and with orders to tell us what we ought to do, and how we were to 
vote, I know what would be the duty of this House ; I know it would 
be our duty to order the officer to be taken and hanged up at the door 
of the lobby; but, sir, I doubt much if such a spirit could be found in 
this House, or in any House of Commons that will ever be in Eng- 
land. 

Sir, I talk not of imaginary things ; I talk of what has happened 
to an English House of Commons, and from an English army ; not 
only from an English army, bat an army that was raised by that very 
House of Commons, an army that was paid by them, and an army 
that was commanded by Generals appointed by them. Therefore, do 
not let us vainly imagine that an army, raised and maintained by 
authority of Parliament, will always be submissive to them. If any 
army be so numerous as to have it in their power to overawe the Par- 
aament, they will be submissive as long as the Parliament does nothing 
to disoblige their favorite General ; but, when that case happens, I am 
afraid that, in place of the Parliament's dismissing the army, the 
army will dismiss the Parliament, as they have done heretofore. We 
are come to the Rubicon. Our army is now to be reduced, or it 
never will be ; and this Nation, already overburdened with debos and 
*axes, must be loaded with the heavy charge of perpetually supporting 
a numerous standing army, and remain forever exposed to the danger 
of having its liberties and privileges trampled upm by any future 
King or Ministry who shall take it in their heads to do so, and shalj 
vake a proper care to model the armv for that purpose. 



ti)6 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

SS. AGAra^Y THE SUCCESSION OF RICHARD CROMWELL TO UiE PROTECTO 
KATE, 1659. — Sir Henry Fane. 

The fcltowiug remarkable speech, which is given unabridged, as it appears in ihe BirgnipW^ 
Elrittanica, diil not tail in its effect. Richard Cromwe.l never appeared in ]}ul)itc again,"after it 
'as delivered. '' Ttiis impetuous torrent," says one of Vane's bio.sraphers, " swept everything 
»efore it. Oratory, genius, and the spirit of liberty, never achieved a more complete triumph. 
It was signal and decisive, instantaneous and in-esistil3le. It broke, and forevev, the power ol 
Richard and his party." Sir Henry Vane was born in Kent, England, in 1512 ; was the fourtJb 
governor of the colony of Jlassachusetts, in 163S ; and was executed for high treason on TowM 
Bill, in 16S2. 

Mr. Speaker, — Among all the people of the univeree, I know nono 
who have shown so much zeal for the liberty of their country as the 
English at this time have done; — they have, by the help of divine 
ProvidciK^e, overcome all obstacles, and have made themselves free. 
We have driven away the hereditary tyranny of the house of Stuart, 
at the expense of much blood and treasure, in hopes of enjoying hered- 
itary liberty, after having shaken off the yoke of kingship ; and there 
is not a man among us who could have imagined that any person would 
be so bold as to dare to attempt th<; ravishing from us that freedom 
which cost us so much blood, and so much labor. But so it happens, I 
know not by what misfortune, we are fallen into the error of those who 
poisoned the Emperor Titus to make room for Domitian ; who made 
away Augustus that they might have Tibeiius ; and changed Claudius 
for Nero. I am sensible these examples are foreign from my subject, 
since the Romans in those days were buried in lewdness and luxury, 
whereas the people of England are now renowned all over the world 
for their great virtue and discipline ; and yet, — suffer an idiot, without 
courage, without sense, — nay, without ambition, — to have dominion 
ill a country of liberty ! One could bear a little with Oliver Crom- 
well, though, contrary to his oath of fidelity to the Parliament, con- 
trary to his duty to the public, contrary to the respect he owed that 
venerable body from whom he received his authority, he usurped 
the Grovernment. His merit was so extraordinary, that our judgments, 
our passions, might be blinded by it. He made his way to empire by 
the most illustrious actions ; he had under his command an army that 
had made him a conqueror, and a People that had made him theii 
General. But, as for Richard Cromwell, his son, who is he ? what are 
his titles ? We have seen that he had a sword by his side ; but did he 
ever draw it ? And, what is of more importance in this case, is he fit 
to get obedience from a mighty Nation, who could never make a foot- 
man obey him? Yet, we must recognize this man as our King, under 
the style of Protector ! — a man without birth, without courage, without 
conduct ! For my part, I declare, Sir, it shall never be said that 1 
made such a man my master ! 



37 HOW PATRIOTS MAY BE Mi DE. — On a motion for dismissimr him from, tm 
Majesty's Council, 1740. Sir Robert Walpole. Born, 167fi ; dipd, 1745. 

It has been observed, Mr. Sjieaker, by several gentlemen, in vindi' 
satic" of this motion, that, if it should be carried, neither my life 



BEVAlJiaAL. J- WaLPOLK 19*. 

fibprty nor estfite, will be affected. But do the honorable genlh^men 
coa-^ider my character and reputation as of no nicment ? It »t no 
imputation to be arraigned before this House, in which I have uat forty 
years, and to have ujy name transmitted to posterity with disgrace 
and infamy ? I will not conceal my sentiments, that to be ruiuied 
in Parliament as a subject of inquiry, is to me a matter of great con- 
-rn ; but I have the satisfaction, at the same time, to reflect that the 
impression to be made depends upon the consistency of the charge, 
and the motives of the prosecutors. Had the charge been reduced tc 
Rpeeific allegations, I should have felt myself called upon for a specific 
defence. Had I served a w&ik or wicked master, and implicitly 
obeyed his dictates, obedience to his commands must have been my 
only justification But, as it has been my good fortune to serve a 
master who wants no bad Ministers, and would have hearkened to 
none, my defence must rest on my own conduct. The consciousness 
of innocence is sufficient support against my present prosecutors. 

Survey and examine the individuals who usually support the 
measures of Government, and those who are in opposition. Let us 
see to whose side the balance prepnderates. Look round both Houses, 
and see to which side the balance of virtue and talents pre|X)nderates. 
Are all these on one side, and not on the other ? Or are all these to 
be counterbalanced by an affected claim to the exclusive title of patri- 
otism ? Gentlemen have talked a great deal about patriotism. A 
venerable word, when duly practised ! But I am sorry to say that 
of late it has been so much hackneyed about, that it is in danger of 
falling into disgrace. The very idea of true patriotism is lost ; and 
the term has Ijeen prostituted to the very worst of purposes. A 
patriot, Sir! — Why, patriots spring up like mushrooms! I could 
raise fifty of them within the four-and-twenty hours. I have raised 
many of them in one night. It is but refusing to gratify an unrea- 
sonable or an insolent demand, and up stiirts a patriot. I have never 
been afraid of making patriots ; but I disdain and despise all their 
efforts. This pretended virtue proceeds from personal malice, and 
from disappointed ambition. There is not a man amongst them whose 
particular aim I am not able to ascertain, and from what motive he 
has entered into the lists of opjx)sition ! 



38. AGAINST MR. PITT, 1741 Id. 

Sir, — I was unwilling to interrupt the course of this debate while 
it was carried on, with calmness and decency, by men who do not 
Buffer the ardor of opposition to cloud their reason, or transport thorn 
to such expressions as the dignity of this assembly does not admit. I 
nave hitherto deferred to answer the gentleman who declaimed against 
the bill with such fluency of rhetoric, and such vehemence of ges- 
ture, — who charged the advocates for the expedients now proposed 
with having no regard to any interest but their own, and with makinj? 
itar^ onlv to cot\sume paper, and threatened them with the defe'^tioB 



f9?< TBS STANDARD SPEAKER. 

of their adherents, and the loss of their influence, upon this new Jis 
80very of their folly, and their ignorance. Nor, Sir, do I now 
answer him for any other purpose than to remind him how little tha 
clamors of rage, and the petulancy of invectives, contribute to tlie 
purposes for whicli this assembly is called togethei- ; — how little the 
discovery of truth is promoted, and the security of the Nation estab- 
lished, by pompous diction, and theatrical emotions. Formidable 
sounds and furious declamations, confident assertions and lofty periods, 
may affect the young and inexperienced ; and perhaps the gentleman 
may have contracted his habits of oratory by conversing more with 
those of his own age than with such as have had more opportunities 
of acquiring knowledge, and more successful methods of communi- 
cating their sentiments. If the heat of his temper, Sir, would suffer 
him to attend to those whose age and long acquaintance with business 
give them an indisputable right to deference and superiority, he would 
learn, in time, to reason rather than declaim, and to pi-efer justness 
of argument, and an accurate knowledge of facts, to sounding epithets, 
and splendid superlatives, which may disturb the imagination for a 
moment, but which leave no lasting impression on the mind. He will 
learn, Sir, that to accuse and prove are very different ; and that 
reproaches, unsupported by evidence, affect only the character of him 
that utters them. Excursions of fancy, and flights of oratory, are, 
indeed, pardonable in young men, but in no other ; and it would 
surely contribute more, even to the purpose for which some gentlemen 
appear to speak (that of depreciating the conduct of the administra- 
tion), to prove the inconveniences and injustice of this Bill, than barely 
to assert them, with whatever magnificence of language, or appearance 
of zeal, honesty, or compassion. 



39. REPLY TO SIR R. WALPOLE, Vli\. — William Pitt, afterrvards Earl of Chatham 

William Pitt, first Earl of Chatham, — one of the greatest orators of modern times, and espec- 
ially endeared to Americans fur his elofjuent aji-peals in their behalf ajiainst the aggressions of 
the Mother Country, — was horn on tlie 15th of November, 1708, in the parish of St. James, iu 
the city of Westminster, Englanil, and died on the 11th of May, IVTS. His second son was the 
celebrated 'William Pitt, whose fame equals, though it does not eclipse, that of his father. 
'Viewing the forms of the two Pitts, father and son," says a biographer of the latter, "ae they 
stand in History, what different emotions their images call forth I The impassioned and roman- 
tic father seems liiie a liero of chivalry ; tlie stately and classical son, as a Roman dictator, 
sompelled into the dimensions of an l-;ngUsh minister:" "The principle," says Hazlitt, "by 
which the Earl of Chatham exerted his influence over others, was symjialhy. He himself evi- 
lently had a strong possession of hi? sob.iect, a thorough conviction, an intense interest ; and 
.his ocramunicated itself from his mariner, from the tones of his voice, from his conmianding 
ittitudes, and eager gestures, instinctively and unavoidably, to his hearers." The first sound ie 
!ai<J. to have terrified Sir Robert \Vuli>ole, who immediately e.vclaimed, " We must muzzle that 
terrible cornet of horse." Sir Robert offered to promote Jlr. Pitt in the army, provided he gave 
ap his seat in Parliament. Probably Mr. Pitt was unwarrantably severe in the following reply 
to the fovejoiiig remarks of Sir Robert. The reply ap))eared originally in Dr. Johnsiin's Regis- 
ter of Debates, and probably received many touches from his pen. 

Sm, — The atrocious crime of being a young man, which the honor- 
able gentleman has, with such spirit and decency, charged upon me. 1 
shall neither attempt to palliate nor deny ; — but content myself with 
wi&hing that 1 may l>e one of those whose follies may cease with their 



fcRNATUKIAL. JiAIU OF CnATHAM. 1U'.« 

yOQth, and not of that number who are ignorant in spite of experience 
Whether youth can be imputed to any man as a reproach, I will not 
Sir, assume the pro\'ince of determining ; — but surely age may becom« 
justly contemptible, if the opportunities which it brings have ]iassc(3 
away without improvement, and vice appears to prevail when the 
passions have subsided. The wretch who, after having seen the con- 
sequences of a thousand errors, continues still to blunder, and whoso 
age has only added obstinacy to stupidity, is surely the object of either 
abhorrence or contempt, and deserves not that his gray hairs should 
secure him from insult. Much more. Sir, is he to be abhorred, who, 
as he has advanced in age, has receded fiom virtue, and becomes more 
wicked with less temptation; — who prostitutes himself for money 
which he cannot enjoy, and spends the remains of his life in the ruir 
of his country. 

But youth. Sir, is not my only crime : I have been acf^,used of 
acting a theatrical part. A theatrical part may either imply some 
peculiarities of gesture, or a dissimulation of my real sentiments, and 
an adoption of the opinions and language of another man. In the first 
sense, Sir, the charge is too trifling to be confuted, and deserves only 
to be mentioned, to be despised. T am at liberty, like every other 
man, to use my own language ; and though, perhaps, I may have 
some ambition to please this gentleman, I shall not lay myself under 
any restraint, nor very solicitously copy his diction or his mien, how- 
ever matured by age or modelled by experience. If any man shall, 
by charging me with theatrical behavior, imply that I utter any sen 
timents but my own, I shall treat him as a calumniator and a villain 
— nor shall any protection shelter him from the treatment he deserves. 
I shall, on such an occasion, without scruple, trample upon all those 
forms with which wealth and dignity intrench themselves, — nor shall 
anything but age restrain my resentment ; — age, which always brings 
one privilege, that of being insolent and supercilious without punish- 
ment. But with regard. Sir, to those whom I have offended, I am of 
opinion that, if I had acted a borrowed part, I should have avoided 
their censure : the heat that offended them is the ardor of conviction, 
and that zeal for the service of my country which neither hope nor 
fear shall influence me to suppress. I will not sit unconcerned while 
my liberty is invaded, nor look in silence upon public robbery. I will 
exert my endeavors, at whatever hazard, to repel the aggressor, and 
drag the thief to justice, — whoever may protect them in their villnny. 
and whoever may partake of their plunder. 



40. IN REPLY TO MR. GRENVILLE, 1766.— £ar n/ Chatham. 

Sir % charge is brought against Gentlemen sitting in this HovLse 
of giving birth to sedition in America. Several have spoken then 
sentimenti. with freedom against this unhappy act, — and that freedom 
has become their crime. Sorry I am to hear the liberry nf speech ir 



Wi) IHE STANDAKD SPEAKEK. 

this Flouse imputed as a crime. But the imputation shall not dii» 
30urage me. The Gentleman tells us, America is obstinate ; Americ* 
is almost in open rebellion. I rejoice that America has resisted 
]Tiree millions of people so dead to all the feelings of liberty as volun- 
tarily to let themselves be made slaves would have been fit instrument* 
to make slaves of all the rest. 1 come not here armed at all points 
with law cases and acts of Parliament, with the statute-book doubltsd 
down in dogs' ears, to defend the cause of liberty. I would not debate 
a particular point of law with the Grentleman. I know his abilitios. 
But, for the defence of liberty, upon a general principle, upon a Con- 
stitutional principle, it is a ground on which I stand firm, — on which I 
dare meet iny man. 

The (xentleman boasts of his bounties to America. Are not thoso 
bounties intended finally for the benefit of this Kingdom ? If they 
are not, he has misapplied the national treasures. He asks, When 
were the Colonies emancipated ? I desire to know when they were 
made slaves ! But I dwell not upon words. I will be bold to affirm 
that the profits of Great Britain from the trade of the Colonies, 
through all its branches, are two millions a year. This is the fund 
that carried you triumphantly through the last war. This is the prii)€ 
America pays for her protection. And shall a miserable financier 
come, with a boast that he can fetch a pepper-corn into the Exchequer, 
by the loss of millions to the Nation ? * 

A great deal has been said, without doors, of the power, of the 
strength, of America. It is a topic that ought to be cautiously 
meddled with. In a good cause, the force of this country can crush 
America to atoms. I know the valor of your troops ; I know the 
skill of your officers. But on this ground, — on the Stamp Act, 
when so many here will think it a crying injustice, — I am one who 
will lift up my hands against it. In such a cause, even your success 
would be hazardous. America, if she fell, would fall like the strong 
man. She would embrace the pillars of the State, and pull down the 
Constitution along with her. Is this your boasted peace ? To sheathe 
the sword, not in its scabbard, but in the bowels of your countrymen ? 
Will you quarrel with yourselves, now the whole House of Bourbon is 
united against you ? While France disturbs your fisheries in New- 
foundland, embarrasses your slave-trade to Africa, and withholds from 
j^our subjects in Canada their property stipulated by treaty ? while the 
?ansom for the Manillas is denied by Spain ? The Americans have 
been wronged. They have been driven to madness by injustice. Will 
you f)unish them for the madness you have occasioned ? Rather let 
prudonce and temper come first from this side! I will undertake for 
Ajnerica that she will follow the example. 

«' Be to her faults a little blind ; 
Be to her virtues very kind." 

l.et the Stamp Act be repealed ; and let the reason for the repoal - 

• Mr. Nugent had said that a peppercorn in acknowledgment of the rigbl ti 
iiu. America yvas of more value than million? without it 



8KNAT0RIAL. - jLiRI OF CHATHAa. 201 

ifcause the Act was founded on an erroneouf pmtiAple — r>< 
a«6igae<i. Let it be repealed absolutely, totally, and immediately ! 



4 . rilE KIli.ST STIU' TO RECONCILIATION WITH AMKRICA - Eari of CKatkam 
Jan. '20, 1775, on his motion to witlulraw the British troops from Boston 

In regard to this sjieech, we find in the diary of Josiali Quincy, jr., tlie following mtmnraa 
'.nm : •' Attended the debates in the House of Lords. Gi;od fortune pave nie one of th« besj 
places for hearing, and taking a few minutes. Lord Chatham rose like Marcellus. His lan- 
guage, voice and gesture, were rjore pathetin than I ever saw or heard before, at the B:ir o. 
Beuato. lie seemed like an old Roman Senator, rising with the dignity of age, yet ?i)eaking 
ifith the fire of youth." Dr. Franklin, who was also present at the debate, said of this speech, 
that " he had seen, in the course of his life, sometimes eloquence without wisdom, and often 
wisdom without eloquence ; in the present instance, he saw both united, and both, as he thought, 
in the highest degree possible." 

A.MEHiCA, my Lords, cannot be reconciled to this country — she 
Dught not to be reconciled — till the troops of Britain are withdrawn. 
How can America trust you, with the bayonet at her breast ? IIow 
can she suppose that you mean less than bondage or death ? I there- 
fore move that an address be presented to his Majesty, advising that 
immediate orders be despatched to General Gage, for removing his 
Majesty's forces from the town of Boston. The way must be immedi- 
ately opened for reconciliation. It will soon be too late. An hour 
now lost in alhiying ferments in America may produce years of calam- 
ity. Never will I desert, for a moment, the conduct of this weighty 
business. Unless nailed to my bed by the extremity of sickness, I 
will pursue it to the end. I will knock at the door of this sleeping 
and confounded Ministry, and will, if it be possible, rouse them to a 
sense of their danger. 

I contend not for indulgence, but for justice, to America. What is 
our right to persist in such cruel and vindictive acts against a loyal, 
respectable people ? They say you have no right to tax thern without 
their consent. They say truly. Representation and taxation must go 
together ; they are inseparable. I therefore urge and conjure your 
Lordships immediately to adopt this conciliating measure. If illegal 
violences have been, as it is said, committed in America, prepare the 
way — open the door of possibility — for acknowledgment and satis- 
faction ; but proceed not to such coercion — such proscription : cease 
your indiscriminate inflictions ; amerce not thirty thousand ; oppress 
not three millions ; irritate them not to unappeasable rancor, for the 
fault of forty or fifty. Such severity of injustice must forever render 
incurable the wounds you have inflicted. What though you march 
from town to town, from province to province ? What though you 
entbi'ce a temporary and local submission ; — how shall you secure tht 
obedience of the country you leave behind you in your progress ^ — 
Row grasp the dominion of eighteen hundred miles of contment, 
populous in numbers, strong in valor, liberty, and the means of 
resistance ? 

The spirit which now resists your taxalion, in America, is the same 
which formerly opposed loans, benevolences and ship-money, in Eng. 
bn i ; — tht; same sivnt which called all England on its legs, and, bj 



202 



THE STANDARD SPEAKER, 



^he Uil] of Eights, vindicated the English Constitation ; - the saxna 
<^irit -whinh eslablibhed the great fundamental essential maxim o^ 
your liberties, tJiat no subject of England shall be taxed but by hii 
own consent. This glorious Whig spirit animates three millions in 
America, who prefer poverty, with liberty, to gilded chains and sordid 
afSuence ; and who will die in defence of their rights as men, as free 
men. What shall oppose this spirit, aided by the congenial flame 
glowing in the breast of every Whig in England ? " 'T is liberty to 
liberty engaged," that they will defend themselves, their families, and 
their country. In this great cause they are immovably allied : it ia 
the alliance of God and nature, — immutable, eternal, — fixed as the 
firmament of Heaven. 



42. REPEAL CLAIMED BY AMERICANS AS A RIGHT. — From the same 

It is not repealing this or that act of Parliament, — it is not 
repealing a piece of parchment, — that can restore America to our bosom. 
You must repeal her fears and her resentments ; and you may then 
hope for her love and gratitude. But, now, insulted with an armed 
force posted at Boston, irritated with a hostile array before her 
eyes, her concessions, if you could force them, would be suspicious and 
insecure, — the dictates of fear, and the extortions of force ! But it is 
more than evident that you cannot force them, principled and united 
as they are, to your unworthy terms of submission. Repeal, there- 
fore, my Lords, I say ! But bare repeal will not satisfy this enlight- 
ened and spirited People. You must go through the work. You 
must declare you have no right to tax. Then they may trust you. 
There is no time to be lost. Every moment is big with dangers. 
While I am speaking, the decisive blow may be struck, and millions 
involved in the consequence. The very first di-op of blood shed in 
civil and unnatural war will make a wound which years, perhaps ages. 
may not heal. It will be immedlcublle. vulnus. 

When your Lordships look at the papers transmitted to us from 
America, — when you consider their decency, firnuiess, and wisdom, — 
you cannot but respect their cause, and wish to make it your own. I must 
declare and avow, that, in the master States of the world, I know not 
the People nor the Senate, who, under such a complication of difficult 
circumstances, can stand in preference to the delegates of America 
assembled in General Congress at Philadelphia. For genuine sagacity, 
for singular moderation, for solid wisdom, manly spirit, sublime senti- 
ments, and simplicity of language, — for everything respectable and 
honorable, - - they stand unrivalled I trust it is obvioub to your Lord- 
ships that all attempts to impose servitude upon such men, to estao- 
tish despotisni over such a mighty Continental Nation, must be vain, 
must be fatal. This wise People speak out. They do not hold the 
.anguag. of slaves. They tell you what they mean. They do no? 
ask you to repeal your laws as a favor. They claim it as a right — 
they demand it. They tell you they will not submit to them. And 



SENATORIAL. EARL OF ->HATil.^il. 20? 

I t«ll you the acts must be repealed. We shall be foictid ultinjiiteljf 
to retract. Let us retract while we can, not when w^e must. I say 
wo must n'ices..<irily undo these violent, oppies.sive acts. Tbey musl 
be repealiMJ, You will repeal them, I pledge niysclt' for it, that you 
will, in the end, rejieal then.. J stake my reputation on it. I wil' 
consent to be taken for an idiot, if they are not finally repealed.* 
Avoid, then, this humiliating, this disgraceful neces.sity. Every 
motive of justice and of policy, of dignity and of prudence urges 
you to allay the ferment in America, by a removal of your troops 
fi-om IJoston, by a repeal of your acts of Parliament. On the othei 
hand, every danger and every hazard impend, to deter you from per- 
severance in your present ruinous measures : — foreign war hanging 
over your heads by a slight and brittle thread, — France and Spain 
w*»tching your conduct, and waiting the maturity of your errors I 

To conclude, my Lords : if the Ministers thus persevere in misad- 
vising and misleading the King, I will not say that they can alienate 
the affections of his subjects from the Crown, but I will affirm that 
they will make his Crown not worth his wearing ; I will not say that 
fJie King is betrayed, but I will pronounce that the Kingdom is 
undone ! 

43. LORD NORTH'S MINISTRY DENOUNCED, 1776. —yd. 
In reply to the Duke of Grafton. 

The notjle Duke is extremely angry with me, that I did not consult 
him before bringing in the present Bill. I would ask the noble Duke, 
Does he consult i7ie, or do I desire to be previously told of any 
motions or measures //e thinks fit to propose to this House ? Thia 
Bill, he says, hjis been hurried. Has he considered how the case 
really stands ? Here we are told that America is in a state of actual 
rebellion ; and I am charged with hurrying matters ! The opponents 
of this Bill may flatter themselves that it will sink into silence, and 
be forgotten. They will find their mistake. This Bill, though 
rejected here, will '^^nke its way to the public, to the Nation, to the 
remotest wilds of A...orica ! It will, I trust, remain a monument of 
my poor endeavors to serve my country ; and, however faulty or 
defective it may be, it will, at least, manifest how zealous I have been 
to avert the storms which seem ready to burst on that country, and to 
overwhelm it forever in ruin. 

Yet, when I consider the whole case as it lies before me, I am not 
much astonished. I am not surprised that men who hate liberty 
ahould detest those who prize it ; or that men who want virtue them* 
selves should endeavor to depreciate those who possess it. Were I 
dispo.sed to pursue this theme to the extent that truth would warrani, 
I could demonstrate that the whole of you^r political conduct has been 
one continued series of weakness, temerity, and despotism; of bluii 

* The prediction of the Earl of Chatham was verified. After three years' fruit 
less war, the reiieal of the offensive ao'is was sent out as a peace-offe;-ing to the Col 
snists ; but it was too hite 



i04 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

lering ignoi>;nce, and wanton negligence ; and of the most notorioiu 
servility, incapacity, and corruption. On reconsideration, I must 
allow you one merit, — a strict attention to your own interests In 
that view, you appear sound statesmen and able politicians. You well 
know, if the present measure should prevail, that you must instantly 
relinquish your places. I doubt much whether you will be able to 
keep them on any terms. But sure I am, such are your well-knowit 
characters and abilities, that any plan of reconciliation, however mod« 
erate, wise and feasible, must fail in your hands. Such, then, being 
your precarious situations, who can wonder that you should put a neg- 
ative on any measure which must annihilate your power, deprive you 
of your emoluments, and at once reduce you to that state of in^ig- 
nifieance for which you were by God and Nature designed ? 



44. AGAINST EMPLOYING INDIANS IN y^KV.. — Earl of Chatham. 

In the course of the debate, November 18, 1777, dui'ing which the Earl of Chatham made the 
ftloqi'.ent speech from which the two following extracts are taken, the Earl of Suffolk, Secre- 
tary of State for the Northern department, advocated the employment of Indians in the war, 
contending that, besides its policy and necessity, the measure was also allowable on principle • 
for that " it was perfectly justifiable to use all the means that God and Nature had put into 
our hands." The following is a resumption of the Earl of Chatham's speech of the same day. 

Wuo is the man that, in addition to the disgraces and mischiefs of 
our army, has dared to authorize and associate to our arms the toma- 
hawk and scalping-knife of the savage ? — to call into civilized alliance 
the wild and inhuman savage of the woods ; to delegate to the merci- 
less Indian the defence of disputed rights ; and to wage the horrors 
of his barbarous war against our brethren ? My Lords, these enormi- 
ties cry aloud for redress and punishment ; but, atrocious as they are, 
they have found a defender in this House, " It is perfectly justifia- 
ble," says a noble Lord, " to use all the means that God and Nature 
put into our hands.'" I am astonished, shocked, to hear such princi- 
ples confessed, — to hear them avowed in this House, or even in this 
country ; — principles equally unconstitutional, inhuman, and unchris- 
tian I My Lords, I did not intend to have trespassed again upon 
your attention ; but I cannot repress my indignation — I feel myself 
impelled by every duty to proclaim it. As members of this House, 
as men, as Christians, we are called upon to protest against the bar- 
barous proposition. " That God and Nature put into our hands ! " 
What ideas that noble Lord may entertain of God and Nature, 1 
know not ; but I know that such abominable principles are equally 
abhorrent to religion and to humanity. What ! attribute the sacrt^ 
("lanction of God and Nature to the massacres of the Indian scalping- 
knife, — to the cannibal savage, torturing, murdering, devouring, drink- 
Tig the blood of his mangled victims! Such horrible notions fi^ock 
every precept of religion, revealed or natural ; every sentiment of 
konor, eve ry generous feeling of humanity ! 

The-se abominable principles, and this more abominable avowal of 
them, demand most decisive indignation ! I call upon that Right 
S«verend Bench, those holy ministers of the Gospel, an i pious paistori 



KKNATORIAL. — EARL OF CHATHAM. 20J 

%f tru" ChuroK; I conjure them to join in the holy work, and to vindi- 
cate the religion of their God! I appeal to the wisdom and the law of 
this learned Bench, to defend and support the justice of their country ! 
[ call upon the Bishops to intex-pose the unsullied sanctity of their 
.awn ; upon the judges, to interpose the purity of their ermine, to save 
us from this pollution ! I call upon the honor of your Lordships to 
reverence the dignity of your ancestors, and to maintain 3'our own! I 
call upon the spirit and humanity of my country, to vindiciite the 
national character ! I invoke the genius of the Constitution ! From 
the tapestry that adorns these walls, the immortal ancestor * of the 
noble Lord frowns with indignation at the disgrace of his country ! 
In vain did he lead your victorious fleets against the boasted Armada 
of Spain, — in vain did he defend and establish the honor, the liber- 
ties, the religion, the Protestant Religion of his country, — if these 
more than Popish cruelties and Inquisitorial practices are let loose 
amongst us ! Turn forth into our settlements, among our ancient con- 
nections, friends and relations, the merciless camiibal, thirsting for the 
blood of man, woman and child ? Send forth the iniidcl savage ' 
Against whom ? Against your Protestant brethren ! To lay waste 
their country, to desolate their dwellings, and extirpate their race and 
name, with these horrible hell-hounds of savage wur ! S^Min armed 
herself with blood-hounds to extirpate the wretched naiires of Amer- 
ica ; and we improve on the inhuman example of even Spanish cru- 
elty ; — we turn loose these savage hell-hounds against our brethren 
and countrymen in America, of the same language, laws, liberties, and 
religion, — endeared to us by every tie that should sanctify humanity! 
My Lords, this awful subject, so important to our honor, our Con- 
stitution, and our religion, demands the most solemn and effectual 
inquiry. And I again call upon your Lordships, and the united powers 
of the State, to examine it thoroughly and decisively, and to stamp 
upon it an indelible stigma of the public abhorrence. And I again 
implore those holy prelates of our religion to do away those iniquities 
from among us. Let them perform a lustration ; let them purify this 
House and this country fi'oni this sin. My Lords, I am old and weak, 
and at present unable to say more ; but my feelings and my indigna 
tion were too strong to have said less. I could not have slept this 
oight in my bed, or have reposed my head on my pillow, without giv» 
ing this vent to my eternal abhorrence of such preposterous and enor" 
wous principles. 

45. RUINOUS CONSEQUENCES OF THE AMERICAN WAR. — £ar/ 0/ Cftaffttm. 

Yyjv cannot conciliate America by your present measures; you 
•"sannot suhdtue her by your present, or by any measures. What, then. 

* Lord Howard of Efrmgiam, who commanded the English fleet opposed to th« 
Spanish Arm.ida, and from whom the Earl of Suffolk was descended. The tapestrj 
01 the Iloise of Lords represented the defeat and dispersion of the Spanish Armada, 
In 1588 In October, 1834, this tapestry was burned in the fire which destroyed 
Vbe two fliiuse.'i of Parliament. 



g06. THE STANDAKD SPEAKER. 

can you do? You cannot conquer, you cannot gain, but ^^.u ca» 
address. In a just and necessary war, to maintain the rights or aonor 
of my country, I would strip the shirt from my batk in its behalf 
'^ut, in such a war as this, unjust in its principle, impracticable in it% 
means, and ruinous in its consequences, I would not contribute a single 
effort, nor a single shilling. 

My liords, I have submitted to you with the freedom and tnitb 
which I think my duty, my sentiments on your present awful situii- 
tion. I have laid before you the ruin of your power, the disgrace of 
your reputation, the pollution of your discipline, the contamination of 
your morals, the complication of calamities, foreign and domestic, that 
overwhelm your sinking country. Your dearest interests, your own 
liberties, the Constitution itself, totter to the foundation. All this 
disgraceful danger, this multitude of misery, is the monstrous offspring 
of this unnatural war. We have been deceived and deluded too long. 
Let us now stop short. This is the crisis, — it may be the only crisis, 
— of time and situation, to give us a possibility of escape from the 
fatal effects of our delusions. But if, in an obstinate and infatuated 
nerseverance in folly, we meanly echo back the peremptory words this 
day presented to us, — words expressing an unalterable determination 
to persist in the measures against America, — nothing can save this 
devoted country from complete and final ruin. We madly rush into 
nmlti plied miseries, and plunge into " confusion worse confounded." 



46. AMERICA UNCONQUERABLE. — £ar/ of Chatham, November 18, 1177, on the 
Address of Thanks to the King. 

This, my Lords, is a perilous and tremendous mom.ent. It is no 
time for adulation. The smoothness of flattery cannot save us, in this 
rugged and awful crisis. It is now necessary to instruct the Throne 
in the language of Truth. We must, if possible, dispel the delusion 
and darkness which envelop it ; and display, in its full danger and 
genuine colors, the ruin which is brought to our doors. Can Minis- 
ters still presume to expect support in their infatuation ? Can Par- 
liament be so dead to its dignity and duty as to be thus deluded into 
file loss of the one, and the violation of the other ; — as to give an 
unlimited support to measures which have heaped disgrace aii i mis- 
fortune upon us ; measures which have reduced this late flourishing 
empire to ruin and contempt ? Biit yesterday, and England migJd 
havv stvod against the world : now, none so poor to do her rever- 
ence ! France, my Lords, has insidted you. She has encouraged 
and sustained America ; and, whether America be wrong or right, the 
dignity of this country ought to spurn at the officious insult of French 
\nterlerence. Can even our Ministers sustain a more humiliating dis- 
grace ? Do they dare to resent it ? Do they presume even to hint a 
.rindication of their honor, and the dignity of the State, by requirin^J 
{he dismissal of the plenipotentiaries of America ? The People, whom 
«hey affr'^ted to call ccntemptible rebels, but whose growing power ha« 



aKNATOR£AL, MEllEI ITH. SO", 

at lAxi Detained ilie name of enemies, — the pfv)ple W'th whom they 
have engaged this couniiy in war, and against whom they noiv command 
our implicit support in every measure of desperate hostility, — thia 
People, despised as rebels, or acknowledged as enemies, arc abettvcd 
against you, supplied with every military store, their interests con- 
sulted, and their Aud)assadors entertained, by your inveterate enemy , 
— and our j>linisters dare not interpose wiih dignity or effect ! 

My Lords, this ruinous and ignominious situation, where we cannot 
act with success nor suffer with honor, calls upon us to remonstrate 
in the strongest and loudest language of truth, to rescue the ear of 
Majesty from the delusions which surround it. You cannot, I ven- 
ture to say it, you cannot conquer America. "VVTiat is your present 
situation there ? We do not know the wort3t ; but we know that in 
three campaigns we have done nothing, and suffered much. You may 
swell every expense, and strain every effort, still more extravagantly ; 
accumulate every assistance you can beg or Ijorrow ; traffic and bar- 
ter with every little pitiful German Prince, that sells and sends his 
subjects to the sliambles of a foreign country : your efforts are forever 
vain and impotent, — doubly so from this mercenary aid on which you 
rely ; for it irritates to an incurable resentment the minds of your 
enemies, to overrun them with the sordid sons of rapine and of 
plunder, devotinp; them and their possessions to the rapacity of hire- 
ling cruelty ! If I were an American, as I am an Englishman, while 
a foreign troop was landed in my country, I never would lay down my 
arms ! — never ! never ! never i 



47. ON FREQUENT EXECUTIONS. IITJ. — Sir IT. McrediCh. 

Whether hanging ever did, or can, answer any good purpose, 1 
doubt : but the cruel exhibition of every execution-day is a proof that 
hanging carries no terror with it. The multiplicity of our hanging 
laws has produced these two things : frequency of condemnation, and 
frequent pardons. If we look to the executions themselves, what exam- 
ples do they give ? The thief dies either hardened or penitent. All 
that admiration and contempt of death with which heroes and martyrd 
inspire good men in a good cause, the abandoned villain feels, in seeing 
a desperado like himself meet death with intrepidity. The penitent 
thief, on the other hand, often makes the sober villain think, that by 
rolibery, forgery or murder, he can relieve all his wants ; and, if he hn 
brought to justice, the punishment will be short and trifling, and the 
reward eternal. 

When a member of Parliament brings in a new hanging law, he 
begins with mentioning some injury that maybe done to private prop. 
i?rty. for which a man is not yet liable to be hanged ; and then ^jfo- 
poses the gallows as the specific and infallible means of cure and pre- 
wcQtion. One Maiw Jones was executed, whose nase I shall jus* 



£0b THE STANDARb SPEAKER. 

mention, li\v was vei-y young, and most remarkably handscin.e. 3h« 
went to a linen-draper's shop, took some coarse linen oif the counter 
and slipped it under her cloak ; the shopman saw her, and she laid it 
down : for this she was hanged. Her defence was (I have the triaJ 
in my pocket), " that she had lived in credit and wanted for nothing, 
till a press-gang came and stole her husband from her ; but, since then, 
she had no bed to lie on ; nothing to give her children to cat ; and 
they were a,lraost naked : and perhaps she might have done something 
wrong, for she hardly knew what she did." The parish officers testi- 
fied the truth of this story : but it seems there had been a good deal 
of shop-lifting about Ludgate ; an example was thought necessary ; 
and this woman was hanged for the comfort and satisfaction of some 
shopkeepers in Ludgate-street! 

And foi- what cause was God's creation robbed of this its noblest 
work ? It was for no injury ; but for a mere attempt to clothe two 
naked children by unlawful means ! Compare this with what the 
State did, and with what the law did ! The State bereaved the woman 
of her husband, and the children of a father, who was all their sup- 
port ; the law deprived the woman of her life, and the children of 
their remaining parent, exposing them to every danger, insult, and 
merciless treatment, that destitute and helpless orphans can suifer. 
Take all the circumstances together, I do not believe that a fouler mur- 
der was ever committed against the law than the murder of this woman 
by the law ! Some who hear me are perhaps blaming the judges, the 
jury, and the hangman ; but neither judge, jury nor hangman, are to 
blame ; — they are but ministerial agents : the true hangman is the 
member of Parliament. Here, here are the guilty ; he who frames 
the bloody law is answerable for the bloody deed, — for all the injustii^e, 
all the wretchedness, ail the sin, that proceed from it ! 



48. ON PARLIAMENTARY INNOVATIONa. — Mr. Beaufoy. 

To calumniate innovation, and to decry it, is preposterous. Have 
there never been any innovations on the Constitution ? Can it be for- 
gotten, for one moment, that all the advantages, civil and political, 
which we enjoy at this hour, are in reality the immediate and fortunate 
effects of innovation ? It is by innovations that the English Constitu- 
tion has grown and flourished. It is by innovations that the Houso of 
Commons has risen to importance. It was at different eras that tho 
counties and towns were empowered to elect representatives. Even the 
office of Speaker was an innovation ; for it was not heard of till the 
time of Richard the Second. What was more, the freedom of speech, 
DOW so highly valued, was an innovation ; for there ^ere times when 
no member dared to a"ow his sentiments, and when his head must 
have answered for the boldness of his tongue. To argue against inno- 
vations, is to argue against improvements of every kind. When th< 
fnllowers of Wickiifie maintained the cause of humanity and reasoj 



SENATORIAL. 209 

tgainst absurdity and superstition, " No innovation," wab the ciy ; and 
the fires of persecution blazed over the Kingdom. " Let there be no 
innovation," is ever the maxim of the ignorant, the interested, and the 
worthless. It is the favorite tenet of the ser\'ile advocate of tyranny. 
It is the motto which Bigotry has inscribed on her banners. It is the 
barrier that opposes every improvement, political, civil, and religioua 
To reprobate all innovatiomi on the Constitution, is to suppose that it 
is perfect. But perfection w;is not its attribute either in the Saxon 
or Norman times. It is not its attribute at the present moment. 
Alterations are perpetually necessary in every Constitution ; for thd 
Ijovernment should be accommodated to the times, to the circum- 
stances, to the wants of 2 Popple, which are ever changing. 



49. THE FOLLV OF RELIGIOUS PERSECUTION. ~ Cor/'^itVafion. 

Mr. Speaker, it behoves the piety as well as the wisdom of Parlia- 
ment to disappoint these endeavors to make religion itself an engine 
of sedition. Sir, the very worst mischief that can be done to religion 
IS to pervert it to the pui-poses of faction. Heaven and hell are not 
more distant than the benevolent spirit of the Gospel and the malig- 
nant spirit of i^arty. The most impious wars ever made were those 
called holy wars. He who hates another man for not being a Chris- 
tian is himself not a Christian. Toleration is the basis of all public 
quiftt. It is a charter of freedom given to the mind, more valuable, 
I think, than that which secures our persons and estates. Indeed, 
they are inseparably connected ; for, where the mind is not free, wliere 
the conscience is enthralled, there is no freedom. I repeat it ; perse- 
cution is as impious as it is cruel and unwise. It not only opposes 
every precept of the New Testament, but it invades the prerogative of 
God Himself. It is a usurpation of the attributes which belong exclu- 
sively to the Most High. It is a vain endeavor to ascend into His 
Throne, to wield His sceptre, and to hurl His thunderbolts. 

And then its own history proves how useless it is. Truth is immor 
tal ; the sword cannot pierce it, fire cannot consume it, prisons cannot 
incarcerate it, famine cannot starve it ; all the violence of men, stirred 
up by the power and subtlety of h;:ll, cannot put it to deatn. In the 
person of 'ts martyrs it bids defiance to the will of the tyrant who per- 
secutes it, i:id with the martyr's last breath predicts its own full ai.d 
final tnamphs. The Pagan persecuted the Christian, but yet Chris- 
tianity lives. The Boman Catholic persecuted the Protestant, but yet 
Protestantism lives. Tlie Protestant persecuted the Boman Catholic, 
but yet Catholicism lives. The Church of England persecuted tho 
Nonconformists, and yet Nonconformity lives. Nonconformists perse- 
cuted Episcopalians, yet Episcopacy lives. When persecution is car- 
ried to its extreme length of extirpating heretics. Truth may bo extm- 
fished ia one p^ace, but it will break out in another. If opinioa« 
■iax'itot be put down by argument, they cannot bv power. Truth gjiim 
14 



210 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

..he victory in the end, not only by its own evidences, but ly the sufFet 
in^ of its confessors. T^herefore, Sir, if we have a mind to establish 
"»eace among the People, we must allow men to judge freely in matters 
of religion, and to embrace that opinion they think right, without any 
hope of temporal reward, without any- fear of temporal punishment. 



t'!. AMERICA'S OBLIGATIONS TO ENGLAND, 1765. — Co^. Barr/?, in rep/y te Chtrl^ 
Townshend, a member of the Ministry. 

The honorable member has asked : — " And now will these Amer. 
leans, children planted by our care, nourished up by our indulgence, and 
protected by our arms, — will they grudge to contribute their mite ? " 
The9/ planted by your care ! — No, your oppressions planted them in 
America ! They fled from your tyranny to a then uncultivated and 
inhospitable country, where they exposed themselves to almost all the 
hardships to which human nature is liable ; and, among others, to the 
cruelties of a savage foe the most subtle, and I will take upon me to 
say the most formidable, of any People upon the face of God's earth ; 
and yet, actuated by principles of true English liberty, our American 
brethren met all hardships with pleasure, compared with those they 
suiFered in their own country from the hands of those that should 
have been their friends. 

They nourished up hy your indulgence ! — They grew by your 
neglect of them ! As soon as you began to care about them, that 
care was exercised in sending persons to rule them, in one department 
and another, who were, perhaps, the deputies of deputies to some mem- 
bers of this House, sent to spy out their liberties, to misrepresent their 
actions, and to prey upon them ; men whose behavior, on many occa- 
sions, has caused the blood of those sons of liberty to recoil within 
them ; men promoted to the highest seats of justice, some who, to 
my knowledge, were glad, by going to a foreign couutry, to escape 
being brought to the bar of a coui't of justice in their own. 

They protected hy your arms ! — They have nobly taken up arms 
in your defence ! — have exerted a valor, amidst their constant arid 
laborious industry, for the defence of a country whose frontier was 
drenched in blood, while its interior parts yielded all its little savings 
bo your emolument. And, believe me, — remember I this day told 
you so, — that same spirit of freedom which actuated that l*eople at 
fii-st will accompany them still ; but prudence forbids me to explain 
myself further. God knows I do not at this time speak from molives 
of party heat. What I deliver are the genuine sentiments of my 
heart. However superior to me, in general knowledge and expe- 
rience, the respectable body of this House may be, yet I claim to 
know more of America than most of you, having seen and been 
"onvorsant in that country. The People, I believe, are as truly 
loyal as any subjects the King has ; but they are a People jealous of 
their liberties, and who will vindicate them to the last drojj of theu 
^lood, if they "hould ever be violated. 



«ENArORIAL. — BARRE. 211 



51 REPLY TO I-ORD NORTH, 1774. — Co^ Barri. Bom, 17-27 , aied. 1802. 
When intoUigence of the destruction of the tea at Boston, Dec. 18, 1773, reached England, H 
•aa made the subject of a niessasre frum the Thrcme to both Houses of Parlianrint. The h'U 
ihuttinir up tlie port of Boston followed. Then succeeded two more measures, by one of which 
:)'e charter of Massachusetts Bay was entirely subverteil, and the nomination of councillors, 
maiistratea, and all civil officers, vested in the Crown ; and by the other it was provided, that 
il any person were indicted in the IVovince of Jlassachusette Bay for murder, or any othet 
capital offsnce, and it should ajipear to the Govenior, by inforinatioi. on oath, that the act wag 
committed in the exercise or :M of the magistracy in supin-essing tumults and riots, and that 
a fair trial coulil not be had in the province, he should send the person so indicted to any other 
colony, or to Great Britain, for trial. While the two mcasui-es last named were pending, the 
following remarks were maile in Pai'liament by Col. Barri. 

Sir, this proposition is so glaring ; so unprecedented in any former 
proceedings of Parliament ; so unwarranted by any delay, denial or 
provocation of justice, in America; so big with misery and oppression 
to that country, and with danger to this, — that the first blush of it 
is sufficient to alarm and rouse me to opposition. It is proposed to 
stigmatize a whole People as persecutors of innocence, and men inca- 
pable of doing justice ; yet you have not a single fiict on which to 
ground that imputation ! I expected the noble Lord would have sup- 
ported this motion by producing instances in which officers of Govern- 
ment in America had been proseeuted with unremitting vengeance, 
and brought to cruel and dishonorable deaths, by the violence and 
injustice of American juries. But he has not produced one such 
instance ; and I will tell you more, Sir,— he cannot produce one ! The 
instances which have happened are directly in the teeth of his propo- 
sition. Col. Preston and the soldiers who shed the blood of the Peo- 
ple were fairly tried, and fully acquitted. It was an American jury, 
a New England jury, a Boston jury, which tried and acquitted them. 
Col. Preston has, under his hand, publicly declared that the inhabitants 
of the very town in which their fellow-citizens had been sacrificed were 
his advocates and defenders. Is this the return you make them ? I? 
this the encouragement you give them to persevere in so laudable a 
spirit of justice, and moderation ? But the noble Lord says, " We 
must now show the Americans that we will no longer sit quiet under 
their insults." Sir, I am sorry to say that this is declamation, unbe- 
coming the character and place of him who utters it. In what 
moment have you been quiet ? Has ROt your Government, for many 
years past, been a series of irritating and offensive measures, without 
policy, princijile or moderation ? Have not your troops and your 
ghips made a vain and in.sulting parade in their streets and in their 
harbors ? Have you not stimulated discontent into disaffection, and 
ijre you not now goading disaffection into rebellion ? Can you expect 
to be well informed when you listen only to partisans ? Can you 
expect to do justice when you will not hear the accused ? 

liOt the banners be once spread in America, and you are an undone 
People. You are urging this desperate, this destructive i;>sue. In 
assenting to your late Bill,* I resisted the violence of America at the 
\azard of my popularity there. I now resist your frenzy at the same risk 

* The Boston Port Bill ; for his Tote ij favor of which the portrait of Barr« iru 
wniovod from Faixeuil Hall 



il2 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

here. I know the vast superiority of your disciplined troops over thi 
Provincials ; but beware how you supply the want of discipline by d<» 
peration ! Wliat madness is it that prompts you to attempt obtaining 
that by force which you may more certainly procure by requisition ' 
The Americans may be flattered into anything ; but they are too much 
jke yourselves to be driven. Have some indulgence for your own 
likeness ; respect their sturdy English virtue ; retract youi' odioufl 
esertions of authority, and remember that the first step towards mak- 
ing them contribute to your wants is to reconcile them to your Gov- 
ernment. 



52. BOLD PREDICTIONS, 1116.— John Wilkes. Born, 1717 ; died, 1797. 

IMr. Speaker : The Address to the King, upon the disturbances 
in North America, now reported from the Committee of the whole 
House, appears to be unfounded, rash, and sanguinary. It draws 
the sword unjustly against America. It mentions, Sir, the par- 
ticular Province of Massachusetts Bay as in a state of actual rebellion. 
The other Provinces are held out to our indignation as aiding and 
abetting. Arguments have been employed to involve them in all tka 
consequences of an open, declared rebellion, and to obtain the fullest 
orders for our officers and troops to act against them as rebels. 
Whether their present state is that of rebellion, or of a fit and just 
resistance to unlawful acts of power, — resistance to our attempts to 
rob them of their property and liberties, as they imagine, — I shall 
not declare. This I know : a successful resistance is a revolution, not 
a rebellion ! Rebellion indeed appears on the back o^ 2t. flying enemy : 
but Revolution flames on the breast-plate of the victorious warrior , 
Who can tell. Sir, whether, in consequence of this day's violent and 
mad Address to his Majesty, the scabbard may not be throws away 
by them as well as by us ; and, should success attend them, whether, 
in a few years, the independent Americans may not celebrate the 
glorious era of the Revolution of 1775, as we do that of 1688 ? 

The policy. Sir, of this measure, I can no more comprehend, than I 
can acknowledge the justice of it. Is your force adequate to the 
attempt ? I am satisfied it is not. Boston, indeed, you may lay in 
ashes, or it may be made a strong garrison ; but the Province will be 
lost to you. Boston will be like Gibraltar. You will hold, in the 
Province of Massachusetts Bay, as you do in Spain, a single towa. 
while the whole country remains in the power and possession of tha 
enemy. Where your fleets and armies are stationed, the posse&sioii 
will be secured, while they continue ; but all the rest will be lost. In 
the great scale of empire, you will decline, I fear, from the decision 
of this day ; and the Americans will rise to independence, to power, 
to all the greatness of the most renowned States ! For they build on 
the solid basis of general public liberty. 

I tremble, Sir, at the almost certain consequences of such an 
iddress. fouaded in cruelty and injustice, equally contrary to th« 



SENATORIAL. WILKES. 211 

xjuiid tnaxiins of true policy, and the unerring rule of natural right. 
iTie Americans will certainly defend their property and their libertiea 
nfith the spirit which our ancestors exerted, and which, I hope, *pe 
ghould exert, on a like occasion. They will .sooner declare thomsolves 
independent, a.id risk every cons'3quence of such a contest, than submit 
to the galling yoke which Administration is preparing for them. An 
Address of this sanguinary nature cannot fail of driving them to 
desjiair. They will see that yon are preparing, not only to draw the 
sword, but to burn the sc-iibbard. In the most harsh manner you are 
declaring them rebels ! Every idea of a reconciliation will now 
vanish. They will pursue the most vigorous course in their own 
defence. The whole continent of North America will be dismembered 
from Great Britain, and the wide arch of the raised Enjpire will fall. 
But may the just vengeance of the People ovei-take the autliors of 
these pernicious Counsels ! May the loss of the first Province of the 
Empire be speedily followed by the loss of the heads of those Ministers 
who have persisted in these wicked, these fatal, these most disastrous 



53. CONQUEST OF THE AJIERICANS IMPEACTIC ABLE, 1775. — TbAn /fittes. 

Sir, it ill becomes the duty and dignity of Parliament to lose itself 
in such a fulsome adulatory Address to the Throne as that now pro- 
posed. We ought rather, Sir, to approach it with sound and whole- 
some advice, and even with remonstrances, against the Ministers who 
have precipitated the Nation into an unjust, ruinous, murderous and 
felonious war. I call the war with our bretliren in America an unjust 
and felonious war, because the primary cause and confessed origin of 
it is to attempt to take their money from them without their consent, 
contrary to the common rights of all mankind, and tliose great funda- 
mental principles of the English Constitution for which Hampden 
Wed. I assert. Sir, that it is a murderous war, because it is an effort 
to deprive men of their lives for standing up in tlie defence of their 
property and their clear rights. Such a war, I fear. Sir, will draw 
down the vengeance of Heaven on this devoted Kingdom. Sir, is any 
Minister weak enough to flatter himself with the conquest of the 
Americans ? You cannot, with all your allies, — with all the mer- 
cenary ruffians of the North, — you cannot effect so wicked a purpose. 
The Americans will dispute every ineh of territory with you, every 
narrow pass, every strong defile, every Thermopylae, every Bunker 'ti 
Hill ! More than half the Empire is already lost, and almost all the 
rest is in confusion and anarchy. We have appealed to the sword ■ 
and what have we gained ? Bunker's Hill only, — and that with the 
JOSS of twelve hundred men ! Are we to pay as dear for the lest of 
A.merica ? The idea of the conquest of that immense coun'iy is aa 
romantic as unjust. 

The honorable Gentleman who moved this Addreas sayj, "The 
imericans have been treated with lenity " Will facts _, <stify the 



214 THE STANDARD Si'iilAKEB. 

assertion ? Was your Boston Port Bill a measure of lenity ? Wart 
your Fishery Bill a measure of lenity ? Was your Bill for taking 
away the charter of Massachusetts Bay a measure of lenity, or even 
>f justice ? I omit your many other gross provocations and insults 
by which the brave Americans have been driven to their present state. 
Sir, I disapprove, not only the evil spirit of this whole Address, bui 
like .vise the wretched adulation of aim st every part of it. My wish 
&jid hope, therefore, is, that it will be rejected by this House ; and tha^ 
iJiother, dutiful yet decent, manly Address, will be presented to hia 
Majesty, praying that he would sheathe the sword, prevent the further 
effusion of the blood of our fellow-subjects, and adopt some mode of 
negotiation with the general CongTOSs, in compliance with their 
repeated petition, thereby restoring peace and harmony to this dis- 
tracted Empire. 

* 

54,. REPLY TO THE DXJKE OF QRA.rrO^. — Lord Thur/ow 

Edward Thurlow, who rose to be Lord High Chancellor of Graat Britain, wa§ born in IVSS, 
and died in 1806. Butler, in his " Reminiscences," says : " It was my good fortune to hear hia 
celebrated reply to the Duke of Grafton, who reproached Lord Tliurlow with his pleteian extran- 
tion, and his recent admission into the peerage. His Lordship had spoken too often, and began 
to be heard with a civil but visible impatience ; and, under these circumstances, he was attacked 
in the maimer we have mentioned. Lord Thurlow rose from the woolsack, and advanced slowly 
to the place from which tlie Chancellor generally addresses the Hi.use of Lords, and then, fix 
ing on the Duke the look of Jove when he has grasped the thunder, be said (in a level tone of 
voice), ' I am amazed at the attack which the noble Duke has made on ine.' Then, raising hia 
voice, — ' Yes, my Lords, I am amazed,' &c." 

I AM amazed at the attack which the noble Duke has made on me. 
Yes, my Lords, I am amazed at his Grace's S}>eech. The noble Duke 
cannot look before him, behind him, or on either side of him, without 
seeing some noble Peer who owes his seat in this House to his success- 
ful esertions in the profession to which I belong. Does he not feel 
that it is as honorable to owe it to these, as to being the accident of an 
accident ? To all these noble Lords the language of the noble Duke 
is as applicaljle, and as insulting, as it is to myself But I do not fear 
to meet it single and alone. 

No one venerates the Peerage more than I do ; but, my Lords, I 
must say that the Peerage solicited tne, — not I the Peerage. Nay, 
more, — I can say, and will say, that, as a Peer of Parliament, aa 
Speaker of this right honorable House, as keeper of the great seal, 
as guardian of his Majesty's conscience, as Lord High Chancellor 
of England, — nay, even in that character alone in which the noble 
Duke would thinli it an aifront to be considered, but which charac- 
fcer none can deny me, — as a man, — I am, at this moment, as respect- 
able, — I beg leave to add, I am as much respected, — as the proudest 
Peer I now look down upon ! 



1 



55. WORTH OF PRESENT POPtlLARITT. - Lord Mansjield. Bom, 1705 ; died, 1783. 

Against Parliamentary exemption from arrest for debt. May 9, 1770. 

It has been imputed to me by the noble Earl * on my left, that I 
too, am running the race of popularity. If the noble Mivl means, hj 



• The Earl of Chatham 



SENATORIAL. — BURKE. Hb 

po)L-*Jar>(i/, that applaase bestowed by after ages on gool and virtu 
Olio actions, I have long been struggling in that race : 'jO wliac purpose 
all-trying Time can alone determine. But if he means ttiut niui^hroom 
popularity, which is raised without merit, and lost without a crime, he 
U much mistaken in his opinion. I defy the noble Earl to jx>int out a 
single action of my life in which the popularity of the times ever had 
the smallest influence on my determination. I thank God I have a 
more permanent and steady rule for my conduct — the dictates Df my 
own breast. Those who have foregone that pleasing advice, and given 
up their minds to the slavery of every popular impulse, I sincerely 
pity: I pity them still more, if vanity leads them to mistake the shouts 
of a mob for the trumpet of fame. Experience might inform them 
that many, who have been saluted with the huzzas of a crowd one day. 
have received its execrations the next ; and many, who, by the popular- 
ity of their own times, have been held up as spotless patriots, have, 
nevertheless, appeared on the historian's page, when truth has triumphed 
over delusion, the assassins of liberty. Why, then, the noble Earl can 
think I am ambitious of present popularity, that echo of folly and 
shadow of renown, I am at a loss to determine. 

Besides, I do not know that the Bill now before your Lordships 
will be popular ; it depends much upon the caprice of the day. It 
may not be popular to compel people to pay their debts ; and, in that 
case, the present must be a very unpopular Bill. It may not be pop- 
ular, neither, to take away any of the privileges of Parliament ; for I 
very well remember, and many of your Lordships may remember, 
that, not long ago, the popular cry was for the extension of privilege ; 
and so far did they carry it at that time, that it was said the privi- 
lege protected members even in criminal actions ; nay, such was the 
power of popular prejudices over weak minds, that the very decisions 
of some of the courts were tinctured with that doctrine. It was, 
undoubtedly, an abominable doctrine ; I thought so then, and I think 
so still ; but, nevertheless, it was a popular doctrine, and came imme- 
diately from those who are called the friends of liberty, — how deserv- 
edly, time will show. True liberty, in my opinion, can only exist 
when justice is equally administered to all, — to the king and to the 
beggar. Where is the justice, then, cr v/here is the law, that protects 
a member of Parliament, more than any other man, from the punish- 
ment due to his crimes ? The laws cf this country allow of no place, 
nor any employment, to be a sanctuary for crimes ; and, where I have 
the honor to sit as judge, neither royal favor nor popular applause 
shall ever protect the guilty. 



«6. MAGNANIMITY IN POLITICS, 1775. —Edmund Burke. Bom. 1730 ; -*«<*. 178T. 

A REVENUE from America, transmitted hither ? Do not delude 
yourselves ! You never can receive it — no, not a shilling ! Let the 
Colonies always keop the idea of their civil rights as.';ociated with your 
Government, and they will cling and grapple to you These iwi *Jo» 



2l5 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

whiok, thougli liglit as air, are strong as links of iron. But let ii 
once be understood that your Government may be one thing and theii 
privileges another, — the cement is gone, the cohesion is loosened . 
Do not entertain so weak an imagination as that your registers and 
your bonds, your affidavits and your sufferances, your cockets and 
your clearances, are what form the great securities of your commerce. 
These things do not make your Government. Dead instrumentSj 
passive tools, as they are, it is the sj^irit of the English communion 
that gives all their life and efficacy to them. It is the spirit of tht 
English Constitution, which, infused through the mighty mass, per- 
vades, feeds, unites, invigorates, vivifies, every part of the Empire, even 
down to the minutest member. 

Do you imagine that it is the land tax which raises your revenue ? 
that it is the annual vote in the committee of supply which gives you 
your army ? or that it is the mutiny bill which inspires it with bravery 
and discipline ? No ! Surely no ! It is the love of the People ; it is 
their attachment to their Government from the sense of the deep stake 
they have in such a glorious institution, which gives you your army 
and your navy, and infuses into both that liberal obedience, without 
which your army would be a base rabble, and your navy nothing but 
rotten timber. 

All this, I know well enough, will sound wild and chimerical to tha 
profane herd of those vulgar and mechanical politicians, who have no 
place among us ; a sort of people who think that nothing exists but 
what is gross and material ; and who, therefore, far from being quali- 
fied to be directors of the great movement of Empire, are not fit to 
turn a wheel in the machine. But, to men truly initiated and rightly 
taught, these ruling and master principles, which, in the opinion of 
such men as I have mentioned, have no substantial existence, are, in 
truth, everything, and all in all. Magnanimity in politics is not sel- 
dom the truest wisdom ; and a great Empire and little minds go ill 
together. Let us get an American revenue, as we have got an Amer- 
ican Empire. English privileges have made it all that it is ; English 
privileges alone will make it all it can be ! 



5V. ENTERPRISE OF AMERICAN COLONISTS, 1115.— Edmund Burke. 

Burke, the greatest of Irish statesmen, and unsurpassed as a writer of Ent'lish prose, im 
pairid his immediate success as a spealcerliy a badly-regulated voice, and an infelicitous deliv- 
ery. Grattan, his countryman and contemiiorary, wrote of him: " Burke is unciuestionably the 
first orator of the Commons of England, notwithstanding the want of energy, the want of grace, 
and the want of elegance, in his manner." " He was a prodigy of nature and of acquisition. 
He read everything — he saw everything. His knowledge of history amounted to a power of 
foretelling , and, when he perceived the wild work that was doing in France, that gieat politi- 
cal p'jysii Un, cognizant of symptoms, distinguished between the access of fever and the force 
of health, aid what others conceived to be the vigor of her constitution he knew to be the 
?aro.\-ysm of her madness ; and then, prophet-like, he pronounced the destinies of Fiance, and 
m his iTophetic fury admonished nations." 

For some time past, Mr. Speaker, has the Old World been fed 
frcm the New. The scarcity which you have felt would have been a 
desolating famine, if this child of your old age, — if America, — 
mth a true filiaj piety with a Roman chxrity, had not put the nil/ 



SENATORIAL. BUUKE, 211 

orcast of its ycuthful exuberance to the mouth of its exhausted parent. 
Turning from the agricultural resources of the CoxOnics, consider the 
wealth which they have drawn from the sea by their fisheries. The 
spirit in which that enterprising employment has been exercised 
ought to raise your esteem nnd admiration. Pray, Sir, what in the 
world is erpial to it ? Pass by the other parts, and look at the mau 
ner in which the People of New ]<]nglund have of late carried on the 
whale fishery. Whilst we follow them among the tumbling mountains 
of ice. and behold them penetrating into the deepest frozen recesses 
of Hudson's Bay, and Davis' Straits, whilst we are looking for 
them beneath the Arctic Circle, we hear that they have pierced into 
the opposite region of Polar cold, that they are at the antipodes, and 
engaged under the frozen serpent of the South. Falkland Island, 
which sneracd too remote aud romantic an object for the grasp of 
national ambition, is but a stage and resting-place in the progress of 
their victorious industry. Nor is the equinoctial heat more discour- 
aging to them than the accumulated winter of both the Poles. We 
&now that whilst some of them draw the line and strike the harpoon 
on the coast of Africa, others run the longitude, and pursue their 
gigantic game, along the coast of Brazil. No sea but what is vexed by 
their fisheries. No climate that is not witness to their toils. Neither 
the perseverance of Holland, nor the activity of Fi'ance, nor the dex- 
terous and firm sagacity of English enterprise, ever carried this most 
perilous mode of hardy industry to the extent to which it has been 
pushed by this recent People ■ a People who are still, as it were, but 
in the gi-istle, and not yet hardened into the bone, of manhood. 

When I contemplate these things, — when I know that the Colonies 
in general owe little or nothing to any care of ours, and that they are 
not squeezed into this happy form by the constraints of a watchful 
and suspicious Government, but that, through a wise and salutary neg- 
lect, a generous nature has been suffered to take her own way to per- 
fection, — when I reflect upon these effects, when I see how profitable 
they have been to us, I feel all the pride of power sink, and all pre- 
sumption in the wisdom of human contrivances melt, and die away 
within me. My rigor relents. I pardon something to the spirit of 
liberty. 

58. ON AMERICAN TAXATION, April 19, 1774.— W. 

Could anything be a subject of more just alarm to America, thaa 
90 see you go out of the plain high road of finance, and give up your 
most certain revenues and your clearest interests, merely for the sake 
of insulting your Colonies ? No man ever doubted that the coiamoditj 
jf tea could bear an imposition of three-pence. But no commodity 
will bear three-pence, or will bear a penny, when the general feelings 
of men are irritated, and two millions of men are resolved not to pay. 
The feelings of the Colonies were formerly the feelings of Great 
liritain. Theirs were foimei'ly the feelings of Mr. Hampden, w'eta 



218 THE STANBj^RD speakek 

«alled upon for the payment of twenty sliillings. Would twentj 
shillings have ruined Mr. Hampden's fortune ? No ! but the pay- 
nient of half twenty shillings, on the principle it was demanded, 
would have made him a slave ! It is the weight of that preaml)le, o) 
which you are so fond, and not the weight of the duty, that the 
Americans are unable and unwilling to bear. You are, therefore, at 
this moment, in the awkward situation of fighting for u phantom ; a 
quiddity ; a thing that wants, not only a substance, but even a 
name ; for a thing which is neither abstract right, nor profitable 
enjoyment. 

They tell you, Sir, that your dignity is tied to it. I know not ho-w 
it happens, but this dignity of yours is a terrible incumbrance to you; 
for it has of late been ever at war with your interest, your equity, 
and every idea of your policy. Show the thing you contend for to be 
refison, show it to be common sense, show it to be the means of 
obtaining some useful end, and then I am content to allow it what 
dignity you please. But what dignity is derived from the perse- 
verance in absurdity, is more than I ever could discern ! Let us. Sir, 
embrace some system or other before we end this session. Do you 
mean to tax America, and to draw a productive revenue from thence ? 
If you do, speak out : name, fix, ascertain this revenue ; settle its 
quantity ; define its objects ; provide for its collection ; and then fight, 
when you have sometb'ig to fight for. If you murder, rob; if you 
kill, take possession : and do not appear in the character of madmen, 
as well as assassins, — violent, vindictive, bloody and tyrannical, with- 
out an object. But may better counsels guide you ! 



69. DESPOTISM INCOMPATIBLE WITH RIGHT, 1788. — /rf. 

My Lords, you have now heard the principles on which Mr. Hast- 
ings governs the part of Asia subjected to the British empire. Here 
he has declared his opinion, that he is a despotic prince ; that he is to 
use arbitrary power ; and, of course, all his acts are covered with that 
shield. " I know," says he, " the Constitution of Asia only from its 
practice." Will your Lordships submit to hear the corrupt practices 
of mankind made the principles of Government ? He have arbitrary 
power! — My Lords, the East-India Company have not arbitraiy 
power to give him ; the King has no arbi trary power to give him ; 
year I^ordships have not ; nor the Commons ; nor the whole Legisla/- 
ture. We have no arbitrary power to give, because arbitrary power 
is a thing which neither any man can hold nor any man can give. 
No man can lawfully govern himself according to his own will, — much 
'et3s can one person be governed by the will of another. We are all 
oorn in subjection, — all born equally, high and low, governors and gov- 
erned, in subjection to one great, immutable, preexistent law, prior ro 
lil our devices, and prior to all our contrivances, paramount to all o«i 
ideas and to all our sensations, antecedent to our very existence, br 



s>:;natorial. — burkk 21S 

which w<. are knit and connected in the eteina Vam,: of tu-. universe, 
»ut oi which we cannot stir. 

This great law does not arise from our conveptions or compacts ; on 
tlie coniniry, it gives to our conventions and compacts all the force and 
lanction tliey can have ; — it does not arise from our vain institutions, 
Every good gift i? of God , all power is of God ; — and He who has given 
the power, and from whom alone it originates, will never suffer tin* 
oxercise of it to be practised upon any less solid foundation than tht 
power itself. If, then, all dominion of man over man is the effect of the 
divine disiwsition, it is bound by the eternal laws of Him that gave it, 
with which no human authority can dispense ; neither he that exer- 
oises it, nor even those who are subject to it ; and, if tliey were 
mad enough to make an express compact, that should release their 
magistrate from his duty, and should declare their lives, liberties and 
properties, dependent upon, not rules and laws, but his mere capricioua 
will, that covenant would be void. 

This arbitrary power is not to be had by conquest. Nor can any 
sovereign have it by succession; for no man can succeed to fraud, 
rapine, and \'iolence. Those who give and those who receive arbi- 
trary power are alike criminal ; and there is no man but is bound to 
resist it to the best of his power, wherever it shall show its face to 
the world. 

Law and arbitrary power are in eternal enmity. Name me a magis- 
trate, and I will name property ; name me power, and I will name 
protection. It is a contradiction in terms, it is blasphemy in religion, 
it is wickedness in politics, to say that any man can have arbitrary 
power. In every patent of office the duty is included. For what 
else does a magistrate exist ? To suppose for power, is an absurdity 
in idea. Judges are guided and governed by the eternal laws of 
justice, to which we are all subject. We may bite our chains, if we 
will ; but we shall be made to know ourselves, and be taught that man 
is born to be governed by law ; and he that will substitute will in the 
place of it is an enemy to God. 



60. IMPEACHMENT OF WAKREN HASTINGS, 1788. — /d. 

The unremitting energy of Burke's a])iieals, in the prosecution of Hastinj^s, was a subjecj 
of wondrr ;it tlie time, aiul is a lasting niemi>rial of his zeal in wlmt )ic lu-lie^eil an honest 
cause, fur tlie U'liiiiriition of posterity. Ilastinirs himself lias said of Kui-kr's elM,|U.i:ce against 
him, — " For II-.l- nrst half-hour, I )ool<e(l ui> to tlie orator in a reverie of w.in.l.i-, ami, during 
that time, I felt myself the most culpable man on earth." The trial of Warrrn llaslinus oota- 
»enced in Westminster Hall, F^b. 18, 17S8, The whole process occujiied ten ye-.u's, from 178S 
to 1795. On the I'ild of April, 1796, Hastings was acquitted by a large majority of the Veers. 

My Lords, I do not mean now to go further than just to remind 
pur Lordships of this, — that Mr. Hastings' government was one 
^hole system of oppression, of roI)bery of individuals, of spoliation 
of the public, and of supersession of the whole system of the English 
Government, in order' to vest in the worst of the natives all th-j 
power that could possibly exist in any Government ; in order tx) defeat 



22C TEE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

ihe ends wliich all Governments ought, in common , to have m vie^ 
In the name of the Commons of England, I charge all this ^ iUanj 
upon Warren Hastings, in this last moment of my application to you. 

My Lords, what is it that we want here, to a great act of national 
justice ? Do we want a cause, my Lords ? You have the cause of 
oppressed princes, of undone women of the first rank, of desolated 
Provinces, and of wasted Kingdoms. 

Do you want a criminal, my Lords ? When was there so much 
iniquity ever laid to the charge of any one ? — No, my Lor^ls, yoTj 
must not look to punish any other such delinquent from Lidia. 
Warren Hastings has not left substance enough in India to nourish 
such another delinquent. 

My Lords, is it a prosecutor you want ? You have before you the 
Commons of Great Britain as prosecutors ; and I believe, my Lords, 
that the sun, in his beneficent pr'ogress round the world, does not 
behold a more glorious sight than that of men, separated from a remote 
people by the material bounds and barriers of nature, united by the 
bond of a social and moral comnmnity ; — all the Commons of Eng- 
land resenting, as their own, the indignities and cruelties that are 
offered to all the people of India. 

Do we want a tribunal ? My Lords, no example of antiquity, 
nothing in the modern world, nothing in the range of human imagin- 
ation, can supply us with a tribunal like this. We conmiit safely the 
interests of India and humanity into your hands. Therefore, it is 
with confidence that, ordered by the Commons, 

I impeach Warren Hastings, Esquire, of high crimes and mis- 
demeanors. 

I impeach him in the name of the Conmions of Great Britain in 
Parliament assembled, whose Parliamentai-y trust he has betrayed. 

I impeach him in the name of all the Commons of Great Britain, 
whose national character he has dishonored. 

I impeach him in the name of the people of India, whose laws, 
rights and liberties, he has subverted ; whose properties he has 
destroyed ; whose country he has laid waste and desolate. 

I impeach him in the name and by virtue of those eternal laws of 
justice which he has violated. 

I impeach him in the name of human nature itself, which he has 
eroelly outraged, injured and oppressed, in both sexes, in every age 
rank, situation, and condition of life. 



61. PERORATION AGAINST WARREN IlA.&TltiGS. — Edmund Burke. 

My Lords, at this awful close, in the name of the Commons, ana 
jurrounded by them, I attest the retiring, I attest the advancing gener- 
ations, between which, as a link in the great chain of eternal order, we 
suind. We call this Nation, we call the world to witness, that the Com- 
mons have xshrunk from no labor ; that we have been guilty of no pro- 
'raricatiop that we have made m ■'.ompromise with crime ; that we hav« 



SEXATO.IIAL. — BUIIKE. 221 

act feared my odium whatsoever, in the long warfare which we nave 
carried on with the crimes, with the vices, with the exorbitant wcalth- 
with the enormous and overpowering influence of Eastern corruption. 

My Jjords, it has pleased Providence to place us in such a stat< 
that we apjiear every moment to be upon the verge of some great 
mutations. There is one thing, and one thing only, wnich defies all 
mutation : that which existed before the world, and will survive the 
tabric of the world itself, — I mean justice; that justice which, ema- 
nating from the Divinity, has a place in the breast of every one of us, 
given us for our guide with regard to ourselves and with regard to 
others, and which will stand, after this globe is burned to ashes, our 
advocate or our accuser, before the great Judge, when He comes to call 
upon us for the tenor of a well-spent life. 

My Lords, the Commons will share in every fate with your Lord- 
ships ; there is nothing sinister which can happen to you, in which we 
shall not all he involved ; and, if it should so happen that we shall be 
subjected to some of those frightful changes which we have seen, — 
if it should happen that your Lordships, st4'ipped of all the decorous 
distinctions of human society, should, by hands at once base and cruel, 
be led to those scaffolds and machines of murder upon which great 
kings and glorious queens have shed their blood, amidst the prelates, 
amidst the nobles, amidst the magistrates, who supported their thrones, 
■ — may you in those moments feel that consolation which I am per- 
suiaded they felt in the critical moments of their dreadful agony ! 

My Lords, if you must fall, may you so fall ! but, if you stand, — 
and stand I trust you will, — together with the fortune of this ancient 
monarchy, together with the ancient laws and liberties of this great 
and illastrious Kingdom, may you stand as unimpeached in honor as 
in power; may you stand, not as a substitute for virtue, but as an 
ornament of virtue, as a security for virtue ; may you stand long, and 
long stand the terror of tyrants ; m ay you stand the refuge of afflicted 
Nations ; may you stand a sacred temple, for the jjerpetual residence 
of an inviolable justice ! 



62. TO THE ELECTORS OF BKlSTOh.— Edmund BurKe. 

Gentlemen, I have had my day. I can never sufficiently express 
my gratitude unto you for having set me in a place wherein I could 
lend the slightest help to great and laudable designs. If I have had 
my share in any measure giving quiet to private property and private 
conscience ; if by my vote I have aided in securing to families the best 
possession, peace ; if I have joined in reconciling kings to their sub- 
jects, and subjects to their prince ; if I have assisted to loosen the 
foreign holdings of the citizen, and taught him to look for his protec- 
tion to the laws of his country, and for his comfort to the good will of 
His countrymen ; if I have thus taken my part with the best of men 
\n the best of their actions, — I can shut the book ; — I nn's-ht wisb 



222 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

to read & page or two more, — but this is enough fci my measure, i 
Have not lived in vain. 

Aod now, Gentlemen, on this serious day, when I come, as it were, 
to make up my account with you, let me take to myself some degree 
of honest pride, on the nature of the charges that are against me. I 
do not here stand before you accused of venality, or of neglect of duty. 
It is not said that, in the long period of my service, I have, in a single 
instance, sacrificed the slightest of your interests to my ambition, or to 
my fortune. It is not alleged that, to gratify any anger or revenge 
of my own, or of my party, I have had a share in wronging or oppress- 
ing any description of men, or any one man in any description. No S 
the charges against me are all of one kind, — that I have pushe-1 the 
principles of general justice and benevolence too far, — further than a 
cautious policy would warrant, and further than the opinions of roany 
would go along with me. In every accident which may happen 
ihrough life, — in pain, in sorrow, in depression and distress, — I will 
3all to mind this accusation, and be comforted. 



63. MARIE ANTOINETTE, 1790.* —Edmund Burke. 

It is now sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the Queen of 
France, then the Daizphiness, at Versailles ; and surely never lighted 
on this orb, which she hardly seemed to touch, a more delightful vision. 
I saw her just above the horizon, decorating and cheering the elevated 
sphere she just began to move in, — glittering like the morning star, 
♦uU of life, and splendor, and joy. ! what a revolution ! and what 
a heart must I have, to contemplate without emotion that elevation 
and that fall ! Little did I dream, when she added titles of venera- 
tion to those of enthusiastic, distant, respectful love, that she should 
ever be obliged to carry the sharp antidote against disgrace concealed 
in that bosom ; little did I dream that I should have lived to see such 
disasters fallen upon her, in a Nation of gallant men, in a Nation of men 
of honor, and of cavaliers ! I thought ten thousand swords must have 
leaped from their scabbards, to avenge even a look that threatened her 
with insult. 

But the age of chivalry is gone ; that of sophisters, economists and 
calculators, has succeeded ; and the glory of Europe is extinguished 
forever. Never, never more, shall we behold that generous loyalty to 
rank and sex, that proud submission, that dignified obedience, that 
subordination of the heart, which kept alive, even in servitude itself, 
the spirit of an exalted freedom ! The unbought grace of life, the 
cheap defence of Nations, the nurse of manly sentiment and heroic 
enterprise^ is gone ! It is gone, that sensibility of principle, that 
enastity of honor, which felt a stain like a wound, which inspired 
murage whilst it mitigated ferocity, which ennobled whatever ij 
touched, and under which vice itself lost half its evil, by losing all 
iicj arrossness, 

* Born, 1755 ; beheaded, 1792. 



SENATORIAL. GRATTAN 225 



64. DEOJARATION OF IRISH RIGIKS, 17S0.— Henri/ Gra/M» 
Henry Oratlan, one of the most renowne<l of Irish orators, vraa born in Dul)lin, en the 3d of 
Xoly, 1746, and died ui 1320. In Decraiber, 1775, he took hU seat in the Insh lIoa'»e oC 
Comsioris; ami fi-om that time till 1800, he figured politically in that body chiefly. Tlie Irsh 
gevolinion of 1782 vas carried mainly by his efforts. Although a Protestant, he was a most 
eam»'st advocate of \he entire emancipation of the Catholics from all invidious distinctions and 
disabilities. In 1805 Grattan took his seat in the British Parliament, where he became tUe 
lewlin;.' Cluimpiin "f Catholic rights. The passages from his speeches in this collection bearing 
date anterior to 1805 were pronounced in the Irish Parliament ; those of a subsequent dat* 
were delivered before the popular bi-anch of the Imperial Parliament. Of Grattan we may add. 
In the words of the Rev. Sydney Smith : — "No Government 'ever dismayed him; the worlti 
could not bribe him : he thought only of Ireland ; lived for no other object ; dedicated to hf.T 
his beautiful fancy, his manly courage, and all the splendor of his astonishing eloiiuence." 

Sir, I have entreated an attendance on this day, that you might, in 
the most public manner, deny the claim of the British Parliament *o 
make law for Ireland, and with one voice lift up your hands against 
it. England now smarts under the lesson of the American war ; her 
enemies are a host, pouring upon her from all quarters of the earth , 
her armies are dispersed ; the sea is not hers ; she has no minister, no 
ally, no admiral, none in whom she long confides, and no general whom 
she has not disgraced ; the balance of her fate is in the hands of Ire- 
land ; you are not only her last connection, — you are the only Nation 
in Europe that is not her enemy. Let corruption tremble ; but let 
the friends of liberty rejoice at these means of safety, and this hour of 
redemption. You have done too much not to do more ; you have gone 
too far not to go on ; you have brought yourselves into that situation 
in which you must silently abdicate the rights of your country, or 
publicly restore them. Where is the freedom of trade ? Where is 
the security of propei'ty ? Where is the liberty of the People ? I 
therefore say, nothing is safe, satisfactory or honorable, nothing except 
a declaration of rights. What ! are you, with three hundred thousand 
men at your back, with charters in one hand and arms in the other, 
afraid to say you are a free People ? If England is a tyrant, it is you 
have made lier so ; it is the slave that makes the tyrant, and then 
murmurs at the master whom he himself has constituted. 

The British minister mistakes the Irish character ; had he intended 
lO make Ireland a slave, he should have kept her a beggar. There is 
no middle policy : \vin her heart by the restoration of her rights, or 
cut off the Nation's right hand ; greatly emancipate, or fundamentally 
destroy. We may talk plausibly to England, but so long as she 
exercises a power to bind this country, so long are the Nations in a 
state of wa.r ; the claims of the one go against the liberty of the other, 
and the sentiments of the latter go to oppose those claims to the last 
drop of h^r blood. The English opposition, therefore, are light: 
mere trade will not satisfy Ireland. They judge of us by other grea^ 
Nations ; by the Nation whose political life has been a struggle for 
liberty, — America! They judge of us with a true knowlc<lge and 
JTist deference for our character ; that a country enlightened as Ire- 
land, chartered as Ireland, armed as L-eland, and injured as Ireland 
will be satisfied with nothing less than liberty. 

I might, an a constituent, come to your bar and demand my libcrtv 



224 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

I do call upon jou, bj the laws of the land and their violation, by th« 
instruction of eighteen centuries, by the arms, inspiration and provi- 
dence of the present moment, tell us the rule by which we shall go , 
assert the law of Ireland ; declare the liberty of the land. I will not 
be answered by a public lie in the shape of an amendment ; neither 
speaking for the subject's freedom, am I to hear of faction. I wish 
for nothing but to breathe, in this our island, in common with my fel- 
iow-subjectc, the air of liberty. I have no ambition, unless it be the 
ambiticn to break your chain, and contemplate your glory. I never 
will be satisfied so long as the meanest cottager in Ireland has a link 
of the British chain clanking to his rags. He may be naked,— he shall 
bot be in iron. And I do see the time is at hand, the spirit is gone 
forth, the declaration is planted ; and though great men should apos- 
tatize, yet the cause will live ; and though the public speaker should 
iio, yet the immortal fire shall outlast the organ which conveyed it, 
and the breath of liberty, like the word of the holy man, will not die 
with the prophet, but survive' him. 



65. REPLY TO MR. FLOOD, 11S3. — Henry Grattan. 

At the time of this speech in the Irish Parliament, Flood and Grattan, although previously 
friends, stood before the British public as rival leaders. A bitter animosity had arisen between 
them ; and Grattan having unfortunately led the way in personality, by speaking of his oppo- 
oent's "affectation of infirmity," Flood replied with great asperity, denouncing Grattan as "a 
tiiendicant patriot," who, "bought by his country for a sum of money, then sold his country for 
prompt payment." He also sneered at Grattan's " aping the style of Lord Chatham." To these 
Uiunts Grattan replied in a speech, an abridgment of which we here give. An arrangement for 
it hostile meeting between the parties was the consequence of this speech ; but Flood was 
arrested, and the crime of a duel was not added to the offence of vindictive personality, of which 
both had been guilty. Grattan lived to regret his harshness, and speak in generous terms of his 
rival. 

It is not the slander of an evil tongue that can defame me. I 
maintain my reputation in public and in private life. No man, who 
has not a bad character, can ever say that I deceived. No countrv 
;an call me a cheat. But I will suppose such a public character. I 
j?ill suppose such a man to have existence. I will begin with hia 
character in his political cradle, and I will follow him to the last stage 
of political dissolution. I will suppose him, in the first stage of his 
life, to have been intemperate ; in the second, to have been corrupt ; 
and in the last, seditious ; — that, after an envenomed attack on the per- 
sons and measures of a succession of viceroys, and after much declama- 
tion against their illegalities and their profusion, he took office, and 
became a supporter of G-overnment, when the profusion of ministers had 
gi-eatly increased, and their crimes multiplied beyond example. 

With regard to the liberties of America, which were inseparable 
from ours, I will suppose this gentleman to have been an enemy 
decided and unreserved ; that he voted against her liberty, and voted 
moreover, for an address to send four thousand Irish troops to cut the 
throats of the Americans ; that he called these butchers "armed nego- 
tiators," and stood with a metaphor in his mouth and a bribe in his 
pocket, a champion against the rights of America, — of America, th« 
5nly hope of Ireland, and the only refuge of the liberties of mankind 



I 



SENATORIAL. GRATTAN 22.) 

fhos defectivo in every relationship, whether to constitutioc, con- 
merce, and toleration, I will suppose this man to have added niuib 
orivate improbity to public crimes ; that his probity was like his 
patriotism, and his honor on a level with his oath. Ho loves to 
deliver panegyrics on himself. I will interrupt him, and say.: 

dir, you are much mistaken if you think that your talents have b^eo 
as great as your life has been reprehensible. You began your parlia- 
mentary career with an acrimony and personality which could bava 
been justiSed only by a supposition of virtue ; after a rank and clanor- 
oas opposition, you became, on a sudden, silent ; you were silent foi 
seven years ; you were silent on the greatest questions, and you 'vere 
6liv;n* for money ! You supported the unparalleled profusion and 
jobbing of Lord Harcourt's scandalous ministry. You, Sir, who 
manufacture stage thunder against Mr. Eden for his anti- American 
principles, — you, Sir, whom it pleases to chant a hymn to the immor- 
tal Hampden ; — you, Sir, approved of the tyranny exercised a/rainst 
America, — and you, Sir, voted four thousand Irish troops to cut thfl 
throats ot the Americans fighting for their freedom, fighting for your 
freedom, fighting for the great principle, liberty ! But you found, at 
last, that the Court had bought, but would not trust you. Mortified 
at the discovery, you try the sorry game of a trimmer in your prop;resa 
to the acts of an incendiary ; and observing, with regard to Prince and 
People, the most impartial treachery and desertion, you justify the sus- 
picion of your Sovereign by betraying the Government, as you had 
sold the ]-'eople. Such has been your conduct, and at such conduct 
every order of your fellow-subjects have a right to exclaim ! The 
merchant may say to you, the constitutionalist u-u^ say to you, the 
American may say to you, — and I, I now say, and say to your beard. 
Sir, — you are not an honest man ! 



68. NATIONAL GRATITUDE, 1780. — Fenry Gra«an. 

I SHALL hear of ingratitude. I name the argument to despise it, 
and the men who make use of it. I know the men who use it are not 
grateful : they are insatiate ; they are public extortioners, who would 
stoj) the tide of pul^lic prosperity, and turn it to the channel of their 
OWM emolument. I know of no species of gratitude which should 
prevent my country from being free; no gratitude which should 
t)blige Ireland to be the slave of England. In cases of robbery and 
asurpation, nothing is an object of gratitude except the thing stolen, the 
charter spoliated. A Nation's liberty cannot, like her treasure, be 
Eneted and parcelled out in gratitude. No man can be grateful or lib- 
eral of his conscience, nor woman of her honor, nor Nation of her lib- 
erty. There are certain unimpartable, inherent, invaluable properties, 
not to be alienated from the person, whether body politic or bodj nat- 
oral. With the same contempt do I treat that charge which says thai 
freland is insatiable; saying that Ireland asks nothing but that which 
Great IJritain has robbed her of, — her rights and privileges T: sa> 
15 



32l^ THE STA:i'«>A. ' £P£AKJfiK. 

ithat -.relaud will not be satisfied with liberty, because slie is not 3ati» 
fied with slavery, is folly. I laugh at that man who supposes that 
Ireland will n^t be content with a free trade and a free Constitution 
and would any man advise her to be content with less ? 



67. DIPQT;a.LIFICATION of ROMAN CATHOLICS. 1793. — i^cnri P Man 

Yov are struggling with difficulties, you imagine ; you are iicis. 
taken, — you are struggling with impossibilities. In making laws on 
the subject of religion, legislators forget mankind, until their own dis- 
traction-admonishes them of two truths ; — the one, that there is a God ; 
the other, that there is a People ! Never was it permitted to any 
Nation, — they may perplex their understandings with various apolo- 
gies, — but never was it long permitted to exclude from essential, — 
from what they themselves have pronounced essential blessings, — a 
great portion of themselves for a period of time ; and for no reason, or, 
what is worse, for such reasons as you have advanced. 

Conquerors, or tyrants proceeding from conquerors, have scarcely 
ever for any length of time governed by those partial disabilities ; but 
a People so to govern itself, or, rather, under the name of Government, 
60 to exclude itself, — the industrious, the opulent, the useful, — that 
part that feeds you with its industry, and supplies you with its taxes, 
weaves that you may wear, and ploughs that you may eat, — to exclude 
a body so useful, so numerous, and that forever ! — and, in the mean 
time, to tax them ad libitum, and occasionally to pledge their lives 
and fortunes ! — for what ? — for their disfranchisement ! — it can- 
not be done ! Continue it, and you expect from your laws what it 
were blasphemy to ask of your Maker. Such a policy always turns 
on the inventor, and bruises him under the stroke of the sceptre or the 
sword, or sinks him under accumulations of debt and loss of dominion. 
Need I go to instances ? What was the case of Ireland, enslaved for 
a century, and withered and blasted with her Protestant ascendency, 
^ike a shattered oak scathed on its hill by the fires of its own intol- 
erance ? What lost England America, but such a policy ? An 
attempt to bind men by a Parliament, wherein they are not repre- 
sented ! Such an attempt as some wo'Al now continue to practise on 
tne Catholics ! Has your pity traversed leagues of ^ea to sit down by 
the black boy on the coast of Guinea, — and have you i:>xgc*^ the man al 
hxmxQ by your side, your brother ? 



(!8. HEAVEN FIGHTS ON THE SIDE OF A GREAT PRINCIPLE. - Gmtan 

The Kingdom of Ireland, with her imperial crown, stands at yovs 
Bar. She applies for the civil liberty of three-fourths of her children, 
Will you dismiss her without a hearing ? You cannot do it ! I sa^ 
pu cannot finally do it ! The interest of your country would not sup- 
port you; tb3 feelings of your -"ountry would not support you : it a 



SENATOUUL. — GUATTAN. 227 

i I roceeding that .Xinnot long ho persisted in. No courtier so devoted, 
ao poliMCian so hardened, no conscience so capacious ! I am not -ifraid 
of ociMisional majorities. A majority cannot overlay a great priuci< 
plo. God will guard His own cause against rank niajor't'-es. In vain 
shall men appeal to a church-cry, or to a mock-thunder; the proprif' 
tor of the bolt is on the side of the People. 

It was the expectation of the repeal of Catholic disability wh" ih ?.st 
ricd the Union. Should you wish to support the minister of tht crow 6 
against the People of Ireland, retain the Union, iid perpetuate the 
disqualification, the consequence must be something more tiian aliena- 
tion. When you finally decide against tlie Catholic question, you 
abandon the idea of governing Ireland byafiection, and you adopt the 
idea of coercion in its place. You are pronouncing the doom of Eng- 
land. If you ask how the People of Ireland feel towards you, ask 
yourselves how you would feel towards us, if we disqualified three- 
fourths of the People of England forever. The day you finally ascertain 
the disqualification of the Catholic, you pronounce the doom of Great 
Britain. It is just it should be so. The King who takes away the 
liljerty of his subjects loses his Crown ; the People who take away the 
liberty of their fellow- subjects lose their empire. The scales of your 
own destinies are in your own hands ; and if you throw out the civil 
liberty of the Irish Catholic, depend on it, Old England will be weighed 
in the balance, and found wanting: you will then have dug your own 
grave, and you may write your own epitaph thii= : — " England died, 

BECACSE SHE TAXEB AmEKICA, AND DISQUALIFIED IrELAND." 



69. INVECTWE AGAINST MR. CORKY, ISm. —Henry Grattan. 

A duel, in which Mr. Con-y was woamled iu the arm, was the sequel to this speech. Ths 
immediate provocation of the speech was a remark from Corry, tliat Grattan, instead of having 
a voice iu tlie councils of his country, should have been standing as a culpi-it at her Bar. 

Has the gentleman done? Has he completely done? He was 
unparliamentary from the beginning to the end of his speech. There 
was scarce a word tliat he uttered that was not a violation of the privi- 
leges of the House. But I did not call him to order. Why ? Because 
the limited talents of some men render it impossible for them to be 
severe without being unparliamentary. ]3ut before I sit down F ^hall 
show him how to be severe and parliamentary at the same time. On 
any other occasion, I should tliink myself justifiable in treating with 
silent contempt anything which might fall from that honorable member ; 
tut there are times when the insignificance of the accuser is lost in the 
magnitude of the accusation. I know the difficulty the honorable gen- 
^xtjuian labored under when he attacked me, conscious that, on a com- 
parative view of our characters, public and private, there is nothing he 
eould say which would injure me. The public would not believe the 
fharge . I despise the falsehood. If such a charge were made by an 
Honest man, I would answer it in the manner I shall do before I sit 
iowu. But I shall first reply to it when not mad(i by ar honesT mau. 



ti'^ THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

Tho light honorable gentleman has called me " a-n ucimpeaolied *ra; 
tor."' I ask, ^hy not " traitor," unqualified by any epitliet ^ 1 vmi 
tell him ; it was because he dare not ! It was the act ol a coward vfhi 
raises his arm to strike, but has not courage to give the blow ' - I will 
not call him villain, because it would be unparliamentary, and he is a 
^rivy CO mcillor. I will not call him fool, because he happens to be 
Chancellor of the Exchequer. But I say he is one who has abused the 
privilege of Parliament and freedom of debate, to the uttering Ian 
j£-ange, which, if spoken out of the House, I should answer only with a 
ciow ! I care not how high his situation, how low his character, how 
contemptible his speech ; whether a privy councillor or a parasite, my 
answer would be a blow ! He has charged me with being connected 
wHh the rebels. The charge is utterly, totally, and meanly false ! 
.'joes the honorable gentleman rely on the report of the House of Lords 
for the foundation of his assertion ? If he does, I can prove to the 
uoramittee there was a physical impossibility of that report being true. 
But I scorn to answer any man for my conduct, whether he be a polit- 
ical coxcomb, or whether he brought himself into power by a false 
glare of courage or not. 

I have returned, not, as the right honorable member has said, to 
raise another storm, — I have returned to discharge an honorable debt 
of gratitude to my country, that conferred a great reward for past 
services, which, I am proud to say, was not greater than my desert. 
I have returned to protect that Constitution, of which I was the parent 
and the founder, from the assassination of such men as the honorable 
gentleman and his unworthy associates. They are corrupt — they are 
seditious — and they, at this very moment, are in a conspiracy against 
their country ! I have returned to refute a libel, as false as it is mali- 
cious, given to the public under the appellation of a report of the 
committee of the Lords. Here I stand for impeachment or trial ! I 
dare accusation ! I defy the honorable gentleman ! I defy the Gov- 
ernment ! I defy their whole phalanx ! — let them come forth ! I tell 
the ministers I shall neither give them quarter nor take it ! I am 
Here to lay the shattered remains of my constitution on the floor of 
this House, in defence of the liberties of my country. 



70. UNIOX WITH GREAT BRITAIN, 1800 —Henry Grattan. 

The minister misrepresents the sentiments of the People, as he has 
Before traduced their reputation. He asserts, that after a calm and 
mature consideration, they have pronounced their judgment in fovor of 
an Union. Of this assertion not one syllable has any existencpi in 
fact, or in the appearance of fact. I appeal to the petitions of twenty- 
one counties in evidence. To affirm that the judgment of a Nation 
■xgainst is for ; to assert that she has said ay when she has pronounced 
HO ' to make the falsification of her sentiments the foundation of her 
ruijQ and the arround of the Union : to affirm that her Parliament 



BKSATORIAL. GRATTAN 22^ 

Coistitution, liberty, honor, property, are taken avray Yiy hex own 
authority, — ^here is, in such artiuee, an effrontery, a hardihood, an 
insensibility, that can best be answered by sensations of astonishmeut 
and disgust. 

The Constitution may be for a time so lost. The character of" tht 
country cannot be so lost. The ministers of the Crown will, or may, 
perhaps, at length find that it is not so easy, by abilities however gi cat, 
lind by power and corruption however irresistible, to put down forever 
an ancient and respectable Nation. Liberty may repair her golden 
beams, and with redoubled he^it animate the country. The cry of loy ■ 
alty will not long continue against the principles of liberty. Loyaltj 
is a noble, a judicious, and a cajmcious principle ; but in these coun- 
tries loyalty, distinct from liberty, is corruption, not loyalty. 

The cry of disaffection will not, in the end, avail against the princi- 
ple of liberty. I do not give up the country. I see her in a swoon, 
but she is not dead. Though in her tomb she lies helpless and motion- 
leas, still there is on her lips a spirit of life, and on her cheek a glow 
of beauty : 

" Thou art not conquered; beauty's ensign yet 
Is crimson in thy lips, and in thy cheeks, 
And Death's pale flag is not advanced there." 

While a plank of the vessel sticks together, I will not leave her. Let 
the courtier present his flimsy sail, and carry the light bark of hia 
faith with every new breath of wind ; I will remain anchored here, 
with fidelity to the fortunes of my country, faithful to her freedom, 
faithful to her fall ! 



71. THE CATHOLIC QUESTION, 1805. — fienrt/ Gratlan. 

The Parliament of Ireland ! — of that assembly I have a parental 
recollection. I sate by her cradle, — I followed her hearse ! In four- 
teen years she acquired for Ireland what you did not acquire for Eng- 
land in a century, — freedom of trade, independency of the Legislature, 
independency of the judges, restoration of the final judicature, repeal 
c.f a perpetual mutiny bill, habeas corpus act, nullum tempus act — a 
great work ! You will exceed it, and I shall rejoice. I call my coun ■ 
tryraen to witness, if in that business I compromised the claims of my 
country, or temporized with the power of England ; but there was one 
thing which baffled the effort of the patriot, and defeated the wisdom 
of the Senate, — it was the folly of the theologian! When the Par- 
liament of Ireland rejected the Catholic petition, and assented to the 
calumnies then uttered against the Catholic body, on that day she 
voted the Union : if ""ou should adopt a similar conduct, on that day 
you will vote the separation. jMany good and pious reasons you may 
give; many good and pious reasons she gave; and she lies there, with 
her many good and pious reasons ! That the Parliament of Ireland 
should lave entertainefl prejudices. I am not astonished ; but that yoU; 
~- that you. who Ba^*^ as individuals and as conquerors, visited a great 



2o0 THE STANDARD SPEAKKK. 

part of the globe, and have seen men in all their inociifications, a &i 
Providence in all her ways, — that you, now, at this time of day. should 
throw up dikes against the Pope, and barriers against the Catholic, 
instead of uniting with that Catholic to throw up barriers against the 
French, this surprises • and, ^ addition to this, that you should hu^Q 
set up the Pope in Italy, to tremble at him in Ireland ; and, further, 
that you should have professed to have placed yourself at the head of 
a Christian, not a Protestant league, to defend the civil and religious 
liberty of Europe, and should deprive of their civil liberty one-fifth of' 
yourselves, on account of their religion, — this — this sui-prises me ! 

This prescriptive system you may now remove. What the best 
men in Ireland wished to do. but could not do, you may accomplish. 
Were it not wise to come to a good understanding with the Irish now ^ 
'riie franchises of the Constitution ! — your ancestors were nursed in 
that cradle. The ancestors of the petitioners were less fortunate. 
The posterity of both, born to new and strange dangers, — let them 
agree to renounce jealousies and proscriptions, in order to oppose what, 
without that agreement, will overpower both. Half Europe is in 
battalion ag'iinst us, and we are devoting one another to perdition on 
account of mysteries, — when we should form against the enemy, and 
march ! 



72. RELIGION INDEPENDENT OF GOVERNMENT, 1311. —Henry Grattan. 

Let us reflect on the necessary limits of all human legislation. No 
Legislature has a right to make partial laws ; it has no right to make 
arbitrary laws — I mean laws contrary to reason ; because that is 
iseyond the power of the Deity. Neither has it a right to institute 
any inquisition into men's thoughts, nor to punish any man merely for 
his religion. It can have no power to make a religion for men, since 
that would be to dethrone the Almighty. I presume it will not be 
arrogated, on the part of the British Legislature, that his Majesty, by 
and with the advice of the Lords spiritual and temporal, &c., can 
enact that he will appoint and constitute a new religion for the Peo- 
ple of this empire ; or, that, by an order in Council, the consciences 
and creeds of his subjects might be suspended. Nor will it be con- 
tended, I apprehend, that any authoritative or legislative measure 
ocfald altei the law of the hypothenuse. Whatever belongs to the 
authority, of God, or to the laws of nature, is necessarily beyond the 
province and sphere of human institution and government. The 
Roman Catholic, when you disqualify him on the ground of his reli- 
gion, may, with great justice, tell you that you are not his God, that 
he cannot mould or fashion his faith by your decrees. When once 
man goes out of his sphere, and says he will legislate for God, ha 
would, in fact, make himself God. 

But this I do not charge upon the Parliament, because, in none of 
she penal acts, has the Parliament imposed a religious creel. Thf 
'lualifjing oath, as to the great cumber of offices, and as to seats ii 



rjENATOKIAL. QHATTAM . f 3i 

Parliaments, scrupjlously evades religious disliuctious. A Dissentei 
of any class may take it. A Deist, an Atheist, may likewise take it. 
The Catholics are alone excepted ; and for what reas^m ? If a Deist 
be fit to sit in Parliament, it can hardly be urged that a Christiai. is 
ur^t ; If an Atheist be competent to legislate tor his country, suruly 
this piivilege camiot be denied to the believer in the divinity of oui 
Saviour ! If it be contended that, to supjxjrt the Church, it is expe 
iient to continue these disabilities, I dissent from that opinion. If it 
could, indeed, be proved, I sliould say that you had acted in defiance 
of all the principles of human justice and freedom, in having taken 
away their Church from the Irish, in order to establish your own ; and 
in afterwards attempting to secure that establishment by disqualifying 
the People, and compelling tliem at the same time to pay for its sup- 
port. Tliis is to fly directly in the face of the plainest canons of the 
Almighty. For the benefit of eleven hundred, to disqualify fom- oi 
five millions, is the insolent effort of bigotry, not the benignant pre- 
cept of Christianity ; and all this, not ibr the preservation of their 
property, — for that was secured, — but for bigotry, for intolerance, for 
avarice, for a vile, abominabl-e, illegitimate, and atrocious usurpation. 
The laws of God cry out against it ; the spirit of Christianity cries 
out against it ; the laws of England, and the spirit and principles of 
its Constitution, cry out against such a system. 



73 SECTAKIAN TYRANNY, 1812. —Henry Grattan. 

Whenever one sect degrades another on account of religion, such 
degradation is the tyranny of a sect. When you enact that, on 
account of his religion, no Catholic shall sit in Parliament, you do 
what amounts to the tyranny of a sect. When you enact that no 
Catholic shall be a sheriff, you do what amounts to the tyranny of a 
sect. When you enact that no Catholic shall be a genei'al, you do 
what amounts to the tyranny of a sect. There are two descriptions 
of laws, — the municipal law, which binds the People, and the law of 
God, which binds the Parliament and the People. Whenever you do 
any act which is contrary to His laws, as expressed in His work, which 
IS the world, or in His book, the Bible, you exceed your right ; when- 
ever you rest any of your establishments on that excess, you rest it on 
a foundation which is weak and fallacious ; whenever you attempt tc 
establish your Government, or your proper'-y, or your. Church, on 
religious restrictions, you establish them on that false foundation, &id 
you oppose the Almighty ; and though you had a host of mitres on 
your side, you banish God from your ecclesiastical Constitution, and 
freedom from your political. In vain shall men endeavor to make 
this the cause of the Church ; they aggravate the crime, by the 
(jndeavor to make their God their fellow in the injustice. Such rights 
are the rights of ambition ; they are the rights of conquest ; ani in 
your case, they ha\'e been the rights of suicide. They ll>-'gin v^ 
attacking liberty; thoy end by the loss of emoire! 



m Hi THE STANDARD SPKAKER. 

74. TUB AMURIOAN WAR DENOUNCED, \n%\.— William Pitt. 

WlUiam Pit I, second son of the great Earl of Chatham, entered Parliament in hiff twenty 
lecond year. He was bom the 28th of May, 1759 ; and took his seat in the House of Common* 
is representative for the Ijorough of Appleby, on the 23d of January, 1781. He made his Srfl 
oratorical effort in that body the 26th of February following ; and displayed great and astonish- 
ing powers of eloquence. Burke said of him, " He is not merely a chip of the old block, but he 
is the old lilock itself." At the age of twenty-four, Pitt became the virtual leader of the House 
of Commons, and Prime Minister of England. He died January 23, 1806. The sulijojied 
remarks were made in reference lo a resolution declaring that immediate measures ought t-:' be 
adopted for concluding peace with the American Colonies. 

Gentlemen have passed the highest euloglums on the American war. 
Its j'jstice has been defended in the most fervent manner. A nolle 
Lord, in the heat of his zeal, has called it a hol}^ war. For my part, 
although the honorable Gentleman who made this motion, and some 
other Gentlemen, have been, more than once, in the course of the debate, 
severely reprehended for calling it a wicked and accursed war, I am 
persuaded, and would affirm, that it was a most accursed, wicked, 
barbarous, cruel, unnatural, unjust and diabolical war ! It was con- 
ceived in injustice ; it was nurtured and brought forth in folly ; its 
footsteps were marked with blood, slaughter, persecution and devasta- 
tion ; — in truth, everything which went to constitute moral depravity 
and human turpitude were to be found in it. It was pregnant with 
y of every kind. 

mischief, however, recoiled on the unhappy People of this 
X)Li.ijtry, who were made the instruments by which the wicked purposes 
of the authors of the war were eft'ected. The Nation was dramed of 
its best blood, and of its vital resources of men and money. The 
expense of the war was enormous, — much beyond any former experi- 
ence. And yet, what has the British Nation received in return ? 
Nothing but a series of ineffective victories, or severe defeats ; — vic- 
tories celebrated only by a tempory.ry triumph over our brethren, 
whom we would trample down and destroy ; victories, which filled the 
land with mourning for the loss of dear and valued relatives, slain in 
the impious cause of enforcing unconditional submission, or with narra- 
tives of the glorious exertions of men struggling in the holy cause 
•jf liberty, though struggling in the absence of all the facilities and 
advantages which are in general deemed the necessary concomitants of 
victory and success. Where was the Englishman, who, on reading the 
narratives of those bloody and well-fought contests, could refrain from 
lamenting the loss of so much British blood spilt in such a cause ; or 
fttim weeping, on whatever side victory might be declared 1 



75. ON A MOTION TO CENSURE THE MINISTRY. — W^iMom /»*«. 

TMs roble and dignified reply to the animadversions of Mr Fox was made in 1788, when 
Mr Pitt, then Pi-ime Minister, was only twenty-four years old. 

Sir, revering, as I do, the great abilities of the honorable Gentleman 
who spoke last, I lament, in common with the House, when those 
«bilities are misemployed, as on the present question, to inflame the 
unagiuation, and mislead the judgment. I am told Sir, " he does noi 



SENATORIAL. — PITT. 23? 

nvj me the triumph of my situation on this day ;" a soil or language, 
irhich becomes the candor of that honiifable Gentleman as ill as his 
presP'it principles. The triumphs of party, Sir, with which this a«lf- 
ippcinted Minister seems so highly elate, shall never seduce me to any 
inconsistency which the busiest suspicion shall presume to glancft at. 
[ will never engage in political enmities without a public cause. I 
will iicver forego such enmities without the public approiyation ; nor 
will I be questioned and cast off in the face of the Hoase, by one vir- 
tuous and dissatisfied friend. These, Sir, the sober and durable 
triumphs of reason over the weak and profligate inconsistencies of party 
violence, — these, Sir, the steady triumplis of virtue over success itself, 
— shall be mine, not only in my present situation, but through every 
futui-e condition of my life ; triumphs which no length of time shall 
diminish, which no change of principles shall ever sully. 

IMy own share in the censure pointed by the motion before the 
House against his Majesty's Ministers I will bear with fortitude, 
because my own heart tells me I have not acted wrong. To thi.s 
monitor, who never did, and, I trust, never will, deceive me, I will 
confidently repair, as to an adequate asylum from all the clamor which 
interested faction can raise. I was not very eager to come in ; and 
shall have no great reluctance to go out whenever the public are 
disposed to dismiss me from their service. It is impossible to deprive 
me of those feelings which must always spring from the sincerity of my 
endeiivors to fulfil with integrity every official engagement. You may 
take from me. Sir, the privileges and emoluments of place ; but you can- 
fiot, and you shall not, take from me those habitual and warm regards for 
the prosperity of my country, which constitute the honor, the happiness, 
the pride of my life ; and which, I trust, death alone can extinguish. 
And, with this consolation, the loss of power, Sir, and the loss of 
fortune, though I affect not to despise them, I hope I soon shall be 
able to forget : 

" Laudo manentem ; si celeres quatit 
Pcnnas, rcsigno quaj dedit — 
Probatn que 
Pauperiem sine dote qusero." 



T6. ON AN ATTEMPT TO COERCE IIIM TO RESIGN.- Id. 

Certain resolutions were passed by the House, in 17S4, for tlie removal of his Majesty's mln- 
\sters, at the head of whom was Mr. Pitt. These resolutions, liowever, his Majesty haa not 
Ihout'ht proper to comply with. A reference having been made to them, Mr. Pitt spoke as 
foUnvs, in reDl/ to Mr. Fox. 

Can anything that I have said, Mr. Speaker, subject me to be 
\>randed with the imputation of preferring my personal situation to 
the public happiness ? Sir, I have declared, again and again. Oily 
prove to me that there is any reasonable hope — show me but the 
most distant prospect — thai my resignation will at all contribute to 
restore peace and happiness to the country, and I will instantly resign 
But. Sir, 1 declare, at i/v^ same time, I will not be Jciu^ed to resign 



S64 THE STANDAKD SPEAKill. 

ns a pieliininary to negotiation. I will not abandon this situatioi m 
Drder to throw myself upon the mercy of that right honorable geu tie- 
man. He caL^ me now a mere nominal minister, the mere puppet of 
secret influence. Sir, it is because I will not become a mere nomina* 
minister of his creation, — it is because I disdain to become the puppet 
of that right honorable gentleman, — that I will not resign ; neithe 
shall his contemptuous expressions provoke me to resignation: m^p 
own honor and reputation I never will resign. 

Let this House beware of suffering any individual to involve hia 
own cause, and to interweave his own interests, in the resolutions of 
t,he House of Commons. The dignity of the House is forever 
appealed to, Let us beware that it is not the dignity of any set of 
men. Let us beware that personal prejudices have no share in 
deciding these great constitutional questions. The right honorable 
gentleman is possessed of thcae enchanting arts whereby he can giv« 
grace to deformity. He holds before your eyes a beautiful and delu- 
sive image ; he pushes it forward to your observation ; but, as sure a- 
you embrace it, the pleasing vision will vanish, and this fair phantom 
of liberty will be succeeded by anarchy, confusion, and ruin to the 
Constitution. For, in truth. Sir, if the constitutional independence of 
the Crown is thus reduced to the very verge of annihilation, where is 
the boasted equipoise of the Constitution ? Dreadful, therefore, as 
the conflict is, my con? ience, my duty, my fixed regard for the Con- 
stitution of our ancestors, maintain me still in this arduous situation. 
It is not any proud contempt, or defiance of the constitutional resolu- 
tions of this House, — it is no personal point of honor, — much less is it 
any lust of power, that makes me still cling to office. The situation 
of the times requires of me — and, I will add, the country calls 
aloud to me — that I should defend tiis castle ; and I am determined, 
therefore, I will defend it ! 



77. BARBARISM OF OUR BRITISH ANCESTORS. — M 

There was a time. Sir, which it may bo fit sometimes to revive in 
the remembrance of our countrymen, when even human sacrifices are 
said to have been offered in this island. Tiie very nractice of the 
slave-trade once prevailed among us. Slaves were formerly an estab- 
lished article of our exports. Great numbers were ex]X)rted, like 
eattle from the British coast, and were to be seen exposed for sale in 
the Euman market. The circumstances that furnished the alleged 
proofs that Africa labors under a natural incapacity for civilization 
might also have been asserted of ancient and uncivilized Britain. 
Why mighi not some Roman Senator, reasoning upon the principles 
of some honorable members of this House, and pointing to British 
barbarians, have predicted, with equal boldness, " There is a People 
that will never rise to civilization ! — There is a People destined nevc» 
ic be free ! " 



SENATORIAL. — POX. 2,31 

We Air, haite long since emerged from barbarism, we have a\rjo»< 
{l>rgotten that we were once barbarians : we are now raised to a situ- 
ation which exhil)its a striking contrast to every circumstance h} 
which a Jiomaii might have characterized us, and by which we now 
characterize Africa. There is, indeed, oni thing wanting to complete 
the contrast, and to clear us altogether from the imputation of acting, 
even to this hour, as barbarians; for we continue to this hour a bar- 
barous traffic in slaves, — we continue it even yet, in spite of all our 
great and un<leniable pretensions to civilization. We were once as 
obscure among the Nations of the earth, as savage in our manners, as 
i^ebased in our morals, as degraded in our understandings, as these 
unhappy Africans are at present. But, in the. lapse of a long series 
of years, by a progression slow, and, for a time, almost imperceptible, 
we have become rich in a variety of acquirements, fiwored above 
measure in the gifts of Providence, unrivalled in commerce, preem- 
inent in arts, foremost in the pursuits of philosophy and science, and 
established in all the blessings of civil society. From all these 
blessings we must forever have been shut out, had there been any 
truth in those principles which some gentlemen have not hesitated to 
lay down as applicable to the ease of Africa. Had those principles 
Deen true, we ourselves had languished to this hour in that miserable 
state of ignorance, brutality and degradation, in which history proves 
our ancestors to have been immersed. Had other Nations adopted these 
principles in their conduct towards us, had other Nations applied to 
Great Britain the reasoning which some of the Senators of this very 
island now apply to Africa, ages might have passed without our 
emerging from barbarism ; and we, who are enjoying the blessings of 
British liberty, might, at this hour, have been little superior, eithej 
in morals, in knowledge, or refinement, to the rude inhabitants of 
the Coast of Guinea. 

♦ 

78. RESULTS OF THE AMERICAN WAR, 1T80. — Cftar/es James Fox. 

Charles .Jaines Fox was born in Kntrliiiid, on the 24111 r.f .Taimin-y, 1749. lie made his first 
speech in Parliament on thi"' l-'itli nf April. ITC,,) In tli" styl- 'i| his .-ra^'ry hr Im.j been com 
pared, by Slime critics, to l)ri;iM>'Ji.iir> "A .■■■]■[. n:i -ii;'-'i i;y itiil >'ii'ii-l;r:i;-|,.-(liiejs uf inaii 
ner ; an ajiparenlly entire :ivA llicrnHV.;), r-nn irtii-n ui l„:iiv^ in th-; I'l-lit ; an alirapt tone 
of vehemeih.-e and indiu'natinu ; a >n-u<ilast Iovl- nf IVeedoni, and ciirresiiondin,;,' 'Hatred of 
opi)rts,sinn iu all its forms ; a natural and idiomatic style, — vigor, argument, power, — these 
were ehara't.-iistirs eiju^dly of the Greek and English cator." Fo.x died ou the 13lh Septem 
ber, ISOd, in the liriy-ii;;hth year of his age. 

»f E are charged with expressing joy at the triumphs of America. 
True it is that, in a former session, I proclaimed it as my sincere 
opinion, that if the Ministry had succeeded in their first sehemo on 
the liberties of America, the liberties of this country would have been 
at an end. Thinking this, as I did, in the sincerity of an honest 
heart, I rejoiced at the resistance which the Ministry had met to their 
attempt. That great and glorious statesman, the late Earl of Chat, 
ham. feeling for the liberties of his native country, thanked God thai 
Aicericci. had resisted. But, it seems, " all the calamities of the 



THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 



country aro to be ascribed to the wishes, and the joy, and the spoeches. 
of Opposition." 0, miserable and unfortunate Ministry! Oy blind 
and incapable men ! whose measures are framed with so little fore- 
sight, and executed with so little firmness, that they not only crumble 
to pieces, but bring on the ruin of their country, merely because one 
rash, weak, or wicked man, in the House of Conunons, makes a speeclj 
against them ! 

But who is he who arraigns gentlemen on this side of the ITouso 
with causing, by their inflammatory speeches, the misfortunes of their 
country ? The accusation comes from one whose inflammatory 
harangues have led the Nation, step by step, from violence to violence, 
in that inhuman, unfeeling system of blood and massacre, which every 
honest man must detest, which every good man must abhor, and every 
wise man condemn ! And this man imputes the guilt of such meas- 
ures to those who had all along foretold the consequences ; who ■ had 
prayed, entreated and supplicated, not only for America, bat for the 
credit of the Nation and its eventual welfare, to arrest the hand of 
Power, meditating slaughter, and directed by injustice ' 

What was the consequence of the sanguinary measures recommended 
in those bloody, inflammatory speeches ? Though Boston was to be 
starved, though Hancock and Adams were proscribed, yet at the feet of 
these very men the Parliament of Great Britain was obliged to I'-neel, 
flatter, and cringe ; and, as it had the cruelty at one time to den'^unce 
vengeance against these men, so it had the meanness afterwa'^s to 
implore their forgiveness. Shall he who called the Americans " Han- 
cock and his ci'ew," — shall he presume to reprehend any set of men 
for inflammatory speeches ? It is this accursed American war that 
has led us, step by step, into all our present misfortunes and nat'^onal 
disgraces. What was the cause of our wasting forty millions of money, 
and sixty thousand lives ? The American war ! What was it '.hat 
produced the E^rench rescript and a French war ? The Amercan 
war •! Whsit was it that produced the Spanish manifesto and Spanish 
war ? The American war ! What was it that armed forty -two 
thousand men in Ireland with the arguments carried on the pf»ints 
of forty thousand bayonets ? The American war ! For what are we 
about to incur an additional debt of twelve or fourteen millions? 
This accursed, cruel, diabolical American war ! 



79. THE FOREIGN POLICY OF WASHINGTON, noi.— Ckarles James For. 

How infinitely superior must appear the spirit and principles of 
General iV'ashington, in his late address to Congress, compared with 
the policy of modern European Courts ! Illustri'^us man ! — deriving 
nonor less from the splendor of his situation than from the dignity of 
ois mind ! Gratefxd to France for the assistance received from her, in 
that great cc ntest which secured the independence of America, he yet 
iid not ohoofe to give up the system of neutrality in her favor. Hav- 
vag once laid do.vn che lin'3 of conduc*. most proper to be pursued, not 



BENATOKTAL. « - FOX. 23" 

111 thf\ msulls and provocationa of the French n nister, Genet,* coulc^ 
At all put him out of hb way, or bend hiui from his purpose. It mus^ 
indetid, create astoni&'xriient, that, placed in circumstances so ciitical, 
wid tilling a station '^ conspicuous, the character of AVasliington should 
aever once have been called in question ; — that he shcild, in no one 
instance, have been accused either of improper insolence, or of mean 
Bubmission, in his transactions with foreign Nations. It has been 
reserved for him to run the race of glory without experiencing the 
smallest interruption to the brilliancy of his career. The breath of 
censure has not dared to impeach the purity of his conduct, nor the 
eye of envy to raise its malignant glance to the elevation of his virtues. 
Such has l^een the transcendent merit and the unpanxlleled fate of thia 
illustrious man ! 

How did he act when insulted by Genet ? Did he consider it as neces- 
sary to avenge himself for the misconduct or madness of an individual, 
by involving a whole continent in the horrors of war ? No ; he con- 
tented himself with procuring satisfaction for the insult, by causing 
Genet to be recalled ; and thus, at once, consulted his own dignity and 
the interests of his country. Happy Americans ! while the whirhvind 
flies over one quarter of the globe, and spreads everywhere desolation, 
you remain protected from its banefiil effects by your own virtues, 
and the wisdom of your Government. Separated from Europe by an 
immense ocean, you feel not the effect of those prejudices and passions 
which convert the boasted seats of civilization into scenes of horror and 
bloodshed. You profit by the folly and madness of the contending 
Nations, and afford, in your more congenial clime, an asylum to those 
blessings and virtues which they wantonly contemn, or wickedly 
exclude from their bosom ! Cultivating the arts of peace under the 
influence of freedom, you advance, by rapid strides, to opulence and 
distinction ; and if, by any accident, you should be compelled to take 
part in the present unhappy contest, — if you should find it necessary to 
avenge insult, or repel injury, — the world will bear witness to the equity 
of your sentiments and the moderation of your views ; and the success 
of your arms will, no doubt, be proportioned to the justice of voui 
ca'ise ! 



80. LIBERTY IS STRENGTH. — Foi XIOI, on the State of Ireland. 

Opinions become dangerous to a State only when pereecution wuhvi 
it necessary for the People to connnunicate their ideas under t}.e bond 
of secrecy. Publicity makes it iraposiiible for artifice to suceed. and 
designs of a hostile nature lose their danger by the certainty ot expos- 
ure, liut it is said that these bills will expire in a few j^'jars ; thav 
they will expire when we shall have peace and tranquillity restored tp 
us. What a sentiment to inculcate! You tell the People that, when 
everything gi^es well, — when they arc happy and comfortuOle, — then 
thcT may meet freely, to recognize their aappliics?, and pass eulogiume 
* Pronounced Zjennay. 



238 rHS STANDARD SPEAK.ER. 

rti th^ii Goverrmient; but that, in a moment of war and calamity , — oJ 
distrust and misconduct, — it is not permitted to meet together ; bccaiisa 
then, instead of eulogizing, they might think proper to condemn Minia 
t€rs. What a mockery is this ! What an insult, to say that this is 
preserving to the People the right of petition ! To tell them that thej 
shall h&ve a right to applaud, a right to rejoice, a right to meet when 
they are happy ; but not a right to condemn, not a right to deplr.re 
their misfortunes, not a right to suggest a remedy I 

Liberty is order. Liberty is strength. Look round the world, and 
admire, as you must, the instructive spectacle. You will see that 
liberty not only is power and order, but that it is power and order pre- 
dominant and invincible, — that it derides all other sources of strength 
And shall the preposterous imagination be fostered, that men bred in 
liberty — the first of human kind who asserted the glorious distinction 
of forming for themselves their social compact — can be condemned to 
silence upon their rights ? Is it to be ccneeived that men, who have 
enjoyed, for such a length of days, the lij^ht and happiness of freedom, 
can be restrained, and shut up again in the gloom of ignorance and 
degradation ? As well, Sir, might you try, by a miserable dam, to 
shut up the flowing of a rapid river ! The rolling and impetuous tide 
would burst through every impediment that man might throw in its 
way ; and the only consequence of the impotent attempt would be, that, 
having collected new force by its temporary suspension, enforcing 
itself through new channels, it would spread devastation and ruin on 
every side. The progress of liberty is like the progress of the stream. 
Kept within its bounds, it is sure to fertilize the country through 
which it runs ; but no power can arrest it in its passage ; and short- 
isighted, as well as wicked, must be the heart of the projector that 
ft'ould strive to divert its course. 



81. VIGOR OF DEMOCRATIC GOVERNMENTS, 1191 .— Charles James Fox. 

When we look at the Democracies of the ancient world, we are com« 
pelled to acknowledge their oppressions to their dependencies : theil 
horrible acts of injustice and of ingratitude to their own citizens ; but 
they compel us, also, to admiration, by their vigor, their constancy, 
their soirit, and their exertions, in every great emergency in which 
they were called upon to act. We are compelled to own that the 
democratic form of government gives a power of which no other form 
13 capable. Why ? Because it incorporates every man with the 
State. Because it arouses everything that belongs to the soul, as well 
as to the body, of man. Because it makes every individual feel that 
he is fighting for himself; that it is his own cause, Iris own safety, his 
own dignity, on the face of the earth, that he is asserting. Who, that 
reads the bistory of the Persian War, — what boy, whose heart i« 
warmed ty the grand and sublime actions which the democratic spirit 
produced, — does not find, in this principle, the key to all the wonders 
wliich wer? achieved at Thermopylae and elsewhere, and of which tb< 



SKXATORIAL. FOX 23S 

recent and marvellous acts of the French People are pregnant exan>. 
piss ? Without disguising the vices of France, — without overlooking 
tlie horrors that have been coniniitieJ, and that have tarnished the 
glory of the Revolution, — it cannot be denied that they have exempli- 
fied the doctrine, that, if you ivish for power, you must look to liberty. 
If ever there was a moment when this maxim ought to be dear to us, 
it is tlie present. We have tried all other means. We have addressed 
ourselves to all the base passions of the People. We have tried to 
terrify them into exertion ; and all has been unequal to our emergeneyc 
Let us try them by the oidy means which experience dcmonsirates to 
he invincible. Let us address ourselves to their love ! Let us identify 
them with ourselves ; — let us make it their own cause, as well aa 



82. THE PARTITION OF POLAND, 1800. — Charles James Fox. 

Now, Sir, what was the conduct of your own allies to Poland ? \n 
thsre a single atrocity of the French in Italy, in Switzerland, in Egypt, 
if you please, more unprincipled and inhuman than that of Russia, Aus- 
tria and Prussia, in Poland ? What has there been in the conduct of 
the French to foreign powers ; what in the violation of solemn trea- 
ties ; what in the plunder, devastation, and dismemberment of unof- 
fending countries ; what in the horrors and murders perpetrated upon 
the subdued victims of their rage in any district which they have over- 
run, — worse than the conduct of those three great powers in the misera- 
ble, devoted, and ti-ampled-on Kingdom of Poland, and who have been, 
or are, our allies in this war for religion, social order, and the rights 
of Nations? 0, but you " regretted the partition of Poland ! " Yes, 
regretted! — you regretted the violence, arid that is all you did. You 
united yourselves with the actors ; you, in fact, by your acquiescence, 
confirmed the atrocity. But they are your allies ; and though they 
overran and divided Poland, there was nothing, perhaps, in the manner 
of doing it, which stamped it with peculiar intamy and disgrace. The 
hero of Poland, perhaps, was mercifid and mild ! He was " as much 
superior to Bonaparte in bravery, and in the discipline which he main- 
tained, as he was superior in virtue and humanity ' tie was animated 
by thft purest principle,? of Christianity, and was restrairied in \ni 
career by the benevolent precepts which it inculr ates ! " Wa$ he ? 

Let unfortunate Warsaw, and the miserable inhabitants cf the 
•'ttburb of Praga in particular, tell ! T^Tiat do tve understsrid to have 
be-on the conduct of this magnanimous here, with whom, it seems, 
liona parte is not to be compared? lie entered the subv.rb of Praga, 
the most populous snburb of Wai-saw, and there he let hia sold'fi'*v ioo«;p 
■)n the miserable, unarmed and unresisting pc^p't:^ ! Men, women ano 
children, — nay, infants at the breast, — were i,K. ncd to one indiscrim- 
inate massacre ! Thousands of them were Inb jDraply, wantonly butch- 
ered ! And for what ? Because they had dai &! Uj join in a wish t*. 
meLi irate their own condition as a Peop-B, and to improve their Ooi> 



240 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

stitution, which had been confessed, by their own sovereign, to be lis 
want of amendment. And such is the hero upon whom the c-ausc ot 
** religion and social order " is to repose ! And such is the man whom 
we praise for his discipline and his virtue, and whom we bold out at: 
our boast and our dependence ; while the conduct of Bonaparte unfits 
him to be even treated with as an enemy ! 



83. AN ATHEISTICAL GOVERNMENT IMPOSSIBLE, 1794. — R. B. Sheridan. 

Richard Brinsley Sheridan was born in Dul)lin, September, 1751, and died July 7, 1816, iu 
Lonuou. lie distinguished himself ijreatly, in comtiany with Burke, in the prosecution against 
Warren Hastings ; but the reports of his siieeches at the trial are imperfect and conflicting 
Bl'^ridan's fame as a dramatist is quite equal to his Parliamentary reputation. 

The noble Lord's purpose is to prove that France began the war 
mth Great Britain. This he appears to think he has established, the 
moment he has shown that Brissot* and others have promulgated in 
print a great many foolish and a great many wicked general principles, 
mischievous to all established Governments. But what was the sum 
of all that the noble Lord told the House ? What did it all prove ? 
What, but that eternal and unalterable truth, that .a long-established 
despotism so far degraded and debased human nature, as to render its 
■subjects, on the first recovery of their rights, unfit for the exercise of 
them ; but never have I, or will I, meet, but with reprobation, that 
mode of argument which goes, iu fact, to establish, as an inference from 
m\s trutli, that those who have been long slaves ought, therefore, tc 
remain so forever. 

It is contended that the present state of things in France cannot 
stand. Without disputing any of his premises, for the present, 1 will 
grunt the noble Lord not only his principle, but the foundation upon 
which ho builds it. I agree with him, that it is contrary to the eter- 
nal and unalterable laws of Nature, and to the decrees of the Maker ( 
man and of Nations, that a Government, founded on and maintaim 
Dy injustice, rapine, murder and atheism, can have a fixed enduranct 
Dr a permanent success ; that there are, self-sown in its own bosom, the 
seeds of its own inevitable dissolution. But if so, whence is our mis- 
sion to become the destroying angel to guide and hasten the anger of 
the Deity ? Who calls on us to offer, with more than mortal arro- 
gance, the alliance of a mortal arm to the Omnipotent ? or to snatch 
the uplifted thunder from His hand, and point our erring aim at the 
devoted fabric which His original will has &ted to fall and crumble in 
that ruin which it is not in the means of man to accelerate or prevent ? 
I accede to the noble Lord the piety of his principle : let him accede 
to me the justice of my conclusion ; or let him attend to experience 
if not to reason ; and m.ust he not admit that hitherto all the attempts 
Qf Viio n.-.ri..irp>iitlv powerful, but certainly presumptuous, crusade of 
vengeance, nave appeared unfavored by fortune and by Providence 
that the^ have hitherto had no other effect than to strengthen tb« 
powers, to whet, the rapacity, to harden the heart, to inflame the fury 
, iind to augment the crimes, of that Government, and that People, whoa 
wo have rashly sworn to subdue, to chastise, and to reform ^ 

* Pronounced Brpexxn. 



8ENAT0KTAL. — SHEUfUAI^. 241 

9A AGAINST POLITICAL JOBBING, 119i. — R. B. Shendan. 

l8 llii? a time for selfish intrigues, and the little dirty traffic for 
ucre and emolument ? Does it suit the honor of a gentleman to ask 
at such a moment ? Does it become the honesty of a minister tc 
grant ? "WTiat ! in such an hour as fliis, — at a moment pregnant with 
the national fate, when, pressing as the exigency may be, the hard 
task of squeezing the money from the pockets of an impoverislied 
People, fron. the toil, the drudgery of the shivering poor, must make 
the most practised collector's heart ache while he tears it from them, 

— can it be that people of high rank, and professing high principles, 

— that they or their families should seek to thrive on the spoils of 
misery, and fatten on the meals wrested from industrious poverty ? 
0, shame ! shame ! Is it intended to confirm the pernicious doctrine 
»■) industriously propagated, that all public men are impostors, and 
that every politician has his price ? Or, even where there is no prin- 
ciple in the bosom, why does not prudence hint to the mercenary and 
the vain to abstain a while, at least, and wait the fitting of the times ? 
Improvident impatience ! Nay, even from those who seem to have 
no direct object of office or profit, what is the language which their 
actions speak ? 

" The Throne is in danger ! we will support the Throne ; but let u«) 
share the smiles of royalty ! " " The order of nobility is in danger ! 
I will fight for nobility," says the Viscount ; * " but my zeal would be 
greater if I were made an Earl I '' " House all the Marquis within 
me," exclaims the Earl, " and the Peerage never turned forth a more 
undaunted champion in its cause than I shall prove ! " " Stain my 
green ribbon blue," cries out the illustrious Knight, " and the fountain 
of honor will have a fast and fiuthful servant ! " 

What are the People to think of our sincerity ? What credit are 
they to give to our professions? Is this system to be persevered in ? 
Is there nothing that whispers to that right honorable gentleman that 
the crisis is too big, that the times are too gigantic, to be ruled by the 
little hackneyed and every-day means of ordinary corruption ? Or, 
are we to beJieve that he has within himself a conscious feeling that 
discjualifies him from rebuking the ill-tin)ed selfishness of his new 
allies ? Let him take care that the corruptions of the Government 
shall not have lost it the public heart ; that the example of selfishnesB 
m the yew has not extinguished public spirit in the many ! 



85. POPULAR AND KINGLY EXAMPLES, \~%b. — R. B. Sheridan. 

We arc told to look to the example of France. From the excesses 
of the French People in the French Revolution, we are warned against 
giving too liiuch liberty to our own. It is reechoed from every quar- 
ter, and by every description of persons in office, from the Prime 
Minister to the exciseman, — " Look to the example of Fn^nce ! " 
The implication is a libel upon the character of Great Britain. 1 
will not admit the inference or the argument, that, because a People, 
* Pronounced Vi'kount. 

16 



£42 THE STANDARD SPEAKEK. 

bred under a proud, insolent and grinding despotism, — maddened bj 
the recollection of former injuries, and made savage by the observation 
of former cruelties, — a People in whose minds no sincere respect for 
property or law ever could have existed, because property had never 
been secured to them, and law had never protected them, — that the 
actions of such a People, at any time, much less in the no ir of frenzy 
acd fury, should furnish an inference or ground on which to estiiEate 
ine temper, character or feelings, of the People of Great Britain. 

What answer would gbutlemen give, if a person, affectedly or sin 
jerely anxious for the preservation of British liberty, were to say . 
' Britons, abridge the power of your Monarch ; restrain the exercise 
of his just prerogative; withhold all power and resources from his 
government, or even send him to his Electorate, from whence your 
voice exalted him ; — for, mark what has been doing on the Continent ■ 
Look to the example of Kings ! Kings, believe me, are the same in 
nature and temper everywhere. Trust yours no longer ; see how that 
shameless and perfidious deson^ c*russia, that trickster and tyrant, 
has violated every principle oi ^i aih, honor and humanity, in his mur- 
derous though impotent attempt at plunder and robbery in Poland ! 
He who had encouraged and even guaranteed to them their Constitu- 
tion, — see him, with a scandalous pi'ofanation of the resources which he 
had wrung by fraud from the credulity of Great Britain, trampling on 
the independence he was pledged to maintain, and seizing for himself 
the countries he had sworn to protect ! Mark the still more sanguin- 
ary efforts of the despot of Russia, faithless not to us only, and the 
cause of Europe, as it is called, but craftily outwitting her perjured 
coadjutor, profiting by his disgrace, and grasping to hei-self the victim 
which had been destined to glut their joint rapacity. See her thank- 
ing her favorite General, Suwarrow, and, still more impious, thanking 
Heaven for the opportunity ; thanking him for the most iniquitous act 
of cruelty the bloody page of history records, — the murderous scene 
at Praga, where, not in the heat and fury of action, not in the first 
impatience of revenge, but after a cold, deliberate pause of ten hours, 
with temperate barbarity, he ordered a considerate, methodical massacre 
of ten thousand men, women and children ! These are the actions of 
monarchs ! Look to the example of Kings ! " 

«6 NECESSITY OF REFORM IN PARLIAMENT. — I,ord Grej Born 1764 ; izetS, 1845 

[am aware of the difficulties I have to encounter in bringing for« 
ward this business ; I am aware how ungracious it would be for thia 
[louse to show that they are not the real representatives of the People ; 
[ am aware that the question has been formerly agitated, on diffe»-'^'i1 
occasions, by great and able characters, who have deserted the cause 
from despair of success ; and I am aware that I nuist necessai'iiy go 
into what may perhaps be supposed trite and worn-out arguineuls. I 
eome forward on the present occasion, actuated solely by a s^.nse of 
iuty, to make a serious and importan/ motion, which, I am ready fair]? 



SENATORIAL. — nCSKISSO:^. 243 

tf) admit, involres n> less a consideration than a fiindameuial cliarign in 
toe Government. At the Revolution, the necessity of short Puilia- 
ments was asserted ; and every departure from these principles is, in 
some shape, a departure from the spirit and practice of the Constitu- 
tion ; yet, when they are compared with the present state of the rep- 
resentation, how does the matter stand ? Are the elections free ? or 
are Parliaments free ? Has not the patronajre of peers increased ? la 
not the patronage of India now vested in the Crown ? Are all these 
'nnovations to be made in order to increase the influence of the Exccu- 
!ve power, and is nothing to be done in fiivor of the popular part of 
tie Constitution, to act as a counterpoise ? 

It uiav be said that the House of Commons are really a just repre- 
sentation of the People, because, on great emergencies, they never fail 
to speak the sense of the People, as was the case in the American war, 
and iu the Russian armament ; but, had the House of Commons had a 
real representation of the People, they would have interfered sooner 
on these occasions, without the necessity of being called upon to do hO. 
I fear much that this House is not a real representation of the People, 
and that it is too much influenced by passion, prejudice or interest. 
This may, for a time, give to the Executive Governinent apparent 
strength ; but no Government can be either lasting or free which is 
not founded on virtue, and on that independence of mind and conduct 
among the People which creates energy, and leads to everything that 
is noble and generous, or that can conduce to the strong*-^ and safety 
of a State. 

" AVhat constitutes a State 1 
Not high -raised battlement or labored mound. 

Thick wall, or inoated gate ; 
Not cities proud, with spires and turrets crowned ; 

Not bays and broad-armed ports. 
Where, laughing at the storm, proud na\aes ride ; 

Nor starred and spangled courts, 
Where low-browed Baseness wafts perfume to Pride ■ 

No ! men, high-minded men, 
With powers as far above dull brutes endued, 

In forest, brake or den. 
As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude; — 

Men who their duties know. 
But know their rights, and, knowing, dare maintain " * 

«7. THE CONSERVATIVE INNOVATOR, 1829.— Ifw. Huokisson. Bo:-*. I'JTO ; d^crf; 1830 

I HAVE been charged with being the author in some instances, and 
the promoter in others, of innovations of a rash and dangerous nature. 
i deny the charge. I dare the authors of it to the proof. Gentlcmcii. 
when they talk of innovation, ought to remember, with Lord Bacon, 
that " Time has been and is the great Innovator." Upon that Inno 
vator I have felt it my duty cautiously to wait, at a becoming dis- 
tance and with proper c.rcumspection ; but not arrogantly aJid pr<» 
wmptuoisly to go before him, and endeavor to outstrip hi/ coifse 
* By Sir Wm. Jones. Born, 1746 ; died. 17i)4. 



24:4 THE BTANDARD SJSaKER. 

rime has raif-ed tliese great interests, and it is the Ir-tsiness of a statt»' 
man to move onwards with the new combination? which have gTowa 
around him. This, Sir, is the principle bj which my feeliuga hav« 
been cc^nstantly regulated, during a long public life ; and by which 1 
shall continue to be governed, so long as I take any part in the public 
tffairs of tbis country. It is well said, by the most poetical genius, 
perh'ips, of our own times, — 

" A thousand years scarce serve to form a State, — 
An hour may lay it m the dust." 

1 his is the feeling which has regulated, which will continue to reg 
alate, my conduct. I am no advocate for changes upon mere abstract 
theory. I know not, indeed, which is the greater folly, that of resist- 
ing all improvement, because improvement implies innovation, or thai 
of referring everything to first principles, and to abstract doctrines'. 
The business of the practical man is, to make himself acquainted with 
facts ; to watch events ; to understand the actual situation of affairs 
and the course of time and circumstances, as bearing upon the present 
state of his own country and the world. These are the grounds by a 
reference to which his reason and judgment must be formed ; accord- 
ing to which, without losing sight of first principles, he must know 
how to apply them, and to temper their inflexibility. This is the 
task of practical legislation. 



88. SATIRE ON THE PENSION SYSTEM, 1786. — Curran. 

John Philpot Curran was boi-n in Newcastle, Ireland, July '24th, 1750. His Senatorial 
career was confined to the Irish Parliament, and was entirely eclijised by Ills reputation at the 
oar. " There never lived a greater advocate," says Charles Phillips ; " certainly never one 
more suited to the country in which his lot was cast. His eloquence was copious, rapid and 
ornate, and las powers of mimicry beyond all description." In his boyhood he had a confusion 
in his utlerance, from which he was called by his school-fellows "stutterin;; Jack Curran." Ha 
employed every means to correct his elocution, and render it perfect, " He accustomed him- 
self," says one of his biographers, " to speak very slowly, to correct liis precipitate utterance. He 
practised before a glass, to make his gestm-es graceful. He spoke aloud the most celebrated 
orations. One piece, — the speech of Antony over the dead body of Cassar, — he was never weary 
of repeating. This he recommended to his young friends at the bar, as a model of eloquence. 
And while he thus used art to smooth a channel for his thoughts to flow in, no man's eloquence 
ver issued more freshly and spontaneously from the heart. It was always the heart of the mau 
that spoke." Under our Forensic department several choice specimens of Curran's speeches 
will be found. Curran died October 14th, 1817. 

This polyglot of wealth, this museum of curiosities, the Pension 
List, embraces every link in the human chain, every description of men, 
women and children, from lae exalted excellence of a Hawke or a 
Exjdney, to the debased situation of the lady who humhleth herself that 
eho may be exalted. Bat the les-sons it inculcates form its greatest 
perfection : It teacheth, that Sloth and Vice may eat that bread which 
Virtue and Honesly may starve for after they have earned it. It 
teaches the idle and dissolute to look up for that support which they 
are too proud to stoop and earn. It directs the minds of men to an 
entire reliance on the ruling Power of the State, who feeds the ravens 
of the Royal aviary, that cry continually for food. It teaches them to 
jaitate those Saints on the Pension List, that are like the lilies of th< 



SENATORIAL. — CURRAN. 245 

.ttcW ; they toil not, neither do they spin, aiA yet are arrayed lik? 
Sokmon in his glory. In tne, it teaches a lesson, which, indeed, they 
might have learned from Epictetus, that it is sometimes good not to be 
ovei'- virtuous ; it shows, that, in projtortion as our distresses incroase, 
the munificence of the Crown incre;tses also ; in prof)Ortion as oui 
clothes are rent, the royal mantle is extended over us. 

Notwithstanding that the Pension List, like charity, covers a mul 
titude of sins, give me leave to consider it as coming home to the mem- 
bers of this House ; — give me leave to say, that the Crown, in extend- 
ing its '" aritj, its liberality, its profusion, is laying a foundation for 
the independence of Parliament ; for, hereafter, instead of oratore or 
patriots accounting for their conduct to such me;in and unworthy 
persons as freeholders, they will learn to despise them, and look to the 
first man in the State ; and they will, by so doing, have this security 
for their independence, — that while any man in the Kingdom has a 
ihilling, they will not want one ! 



89. REPLY TO THREATS OV VIOLENCE, 1190. — Curran. 

We have been told this night, in express words, that the man who 
dares to do his duty to his country in this House may expect to be 
attacked without these walls bj the military gentlemen of the Castle. 
If the array had been directly or indirectly mentioned in the course 
of the debate, this extraordinary declaration might be attributable to 
the confusion of a mistaken charge, or an absurd vindication ; but. 
without connection with the subject, a new principle of government is 
advanced, and that is — the bayonet ! And this is stated in the full- 
est house, and the most crowded audience, I ever saw. We are to be 
silenced by corruption within, or quelled by force of arms without. If 
the strength of numbers or corruption should fail against the cause of 
the public, it is to be backed by assassination. Nor is it necessary 
that those avowed principles of bribery and arras should come from 
any high personal authority ; they have been delivered by the known 
retainers of Administration, in the face of that bench, and heard even 
without a murmur of dissent or disapprobation. 

L or my part, I do not know how it may be my destiny to fall ; — it 
may be by chance, or malady, or violence ; but, should it be my fate 
to perish the victim of a bold and honest discharge of my duty, I will 
not shun it. I will do that duty ; and, if it should expose me to sink 
finder the blow of the assassin, and become a victim to the pubbo 
i^use, the most sensible of my regrets would be, that on such an altar 
there should not be immolated a more illustrious sacrifice. As to 
myself, while I live, I shall despise the peril. I feci in my own spirit 
the safety of my honor, and in my own and the spirit of the People 
ao I feel strength enough to hold that Administration, which can give 
& sanction to menaces like these, responsible for their consequences to 
the Nation and the individual. 



246 THE STANDARD SPFAKER. 



90. AGAINST RELIGIOUS DISTINCTIONS, 1798. - Currow. 

GENTLEMEN Pay the Catholics have got everything but scats ts 
Parliament. Are we really afraid of giving theai that pnvilege 
Are we seriously afraid that Catholic venality might pollute the 
immaculate integrity / the House of Commons ? — that a Catholi. 
member wouH be more accessible to a promise, or a pension, or a bribe 
than a Protestant ? Lay your hands upon your hearts, look in one 
another's faces, and say Yes, and I will vote against this amendment ' 
But is it the fact that they have everything ? Is it the fact that 
they have the common benefit of the Constitution, or the common pro- 
tection of the law ? 

Another gentleman has said, the Catholics have got much, and 
ought to be content. Why have they got that much ? Is it from 
the minister ? Is it from the Parliament, which threw their petition 
over its bar ? No, — they got it by the great revolution of human 
affairs ; by the astonishing march of the human mind ; a march that 
has collected too much momentum, in its advance, to be now stopped 
in its progress. The bark is still afloat ; it is freighted with the hopes 
and liberties of millions of men ; she is already under way ; the rower 
may faint, or the wind may sleep, but, rely upon it, she has already 
acquired an ei;ergy of advancement that will suoport her course, and 
bring her to her destination ; rely upon it, whether much or little 
remains, it is now vain to withhold it ; rely upon it. you may as well 
stamp your foot upon the earth, in order to prevent its revolution. 
You cannot stop it ! You will only rem.ain a silly snomon upon its 
surface, to measure the rapidity of rotation, until yor a^'e forced round 
and buried in the shade of that body whose irresi«tvVe course you 
would endeavoi- to oppose ! 



91. FRUITS OF THE WAR WITH FRANCE. — Georg-e CanPing. 

George Cannina; was born in London, on the 11th of April, ITTO. He entered into public Ufo 
the avo\v-e<l pupil of Jir. I'itt, ;ind made his maiden speech in Parliament, from which the fol- 
lowing- is an extract, in 1794. He was repeatedly a member of the Ministry, and became Premict 
shortly before his death, whicli occurred in 1S27. Mr Canning meditaiM his speeches care- 
fully, and they are models of Parliamentary style. "No English speusi- says Sir James 
Mackintosh, " used the keen and brilliant weapon of wit so long, so often, or so eff-'ctively, aa 
Mr. Canning." 

Ws have been told that this is a war into which we have boon hur- 
ried by clamor and prejudice ; in short, that it is a war of p^H-^ion. 
An appeal is made to our prudence ; and we are asked, with ar air 
af triumph, what are we to get by this war ? Sir, that we have is^ill 
a Government ; that the functions of this House have not been usurped 
by a corresponding society, or a Scotch Convention ; that, instead of 
Bitting in debate here, whether or not we shall subsidize the King of 
Sardinia, we are not rather employed in devising how to raise a forced 
loan for some procon;-;ular deputy, whom the banditti of Paris might 
have sen*, to receive our contributions ; — Sir, that we sit here at ali. 
ibese are the fruits of the war ! 



BENATOIUiL. OAXNINCt. - Ai't 

But, when neitaer our reason nor our pruden e -^an be set ags lust 
the war, an attempt is made to alarm our apprehensions. The French 
are stat<d to he an invincible People ; inflamed to a degree ol'iiuidncsi 
with the holy enthusiasm of freedom, there is nothing that they camiot 
accomplish. I am as ready as any man to allow that the French are 
enthusiastically animated, be it how it may, to a state of absolute 
insanity. I desire no better proof of their being mad, than to sc« 
Jiem hugging themselves in a system of slavery so gross and gi-inding 
as their oresent, and calling, at the same time, aloud upon all Europe, 
to admire and envy their freedom. But, before their plea of madness 
can be admitted as conclusive against our right to be at war with 
them, Gentlemen would do well to recollect that of madness there are 
several kinds. If theirs had been a harmless idiot lunacy, which had 
contented itself with playing its tricks and practising its fooleries a. 
home, — with dressing up shameless women in oak -leaves, and inventing 
nick-names for the calendar, — I should have been far from desiring to 
interrupt their innocent amusements ; we might have looked on with 
hearty contempt, indeed, but with a contempt not wholly unmixed 
with commiseration. But, if theirs be a madness of a different kind, 
— a moody, mischievous insanity, — if, not contented with tearing and 
wounding themselves, they proceed to exert their unnatural strength 
for the annoyance of their neighbors, — if, not satisfied with weaving 
straws and wearing fetters at home, they attempt to carry their sys- 
tems and their slavery abroad, and to impose them on the Nations of 
Europe, — it becomes necessary, then, that those Nations should be 
roused to resistance. Such a disposition must, for the safety and 
of thr world, be repelled ; and, if possible, be eradicated. 



92. BANK-NOTES AND COIN, 1811. — Georg-e Canning. 

Are bank-notes equivalent to the legal standard coin of the realm ? 
This is the question which divides and agitates the public opinion. 
Says the right honorable gentleman, " I will devise a mode of settling 
this question to the satisfaction of the public." By advising a procla- 
mation ? No. By bringing a bill into Parliament ? No. By pro- 
posing to declare the joint opinion of both Houses, or the separate 
opinion of one ? No. By what process, then ? Why, simply by 
teiling the disputants that they are, and have been all along, however 
unconsciously, agreed upon the subject of their variance ; and gravely 
resolving for them, respectively, an unanimous opinion ! This is tho 
very judgment, I should imagine, which Milton ascribes to the vener- 
able Anarch, whom he represents as adjusting the disputes of t^ie 
conflicting element : 

" Chaos umpire sits, 
And by decision more embroils the fray." 

" Iri public esl»nTiation," says t)ie right honorable gtjxtleman's Keso 
lutiop " bank-notes and coin are equivdeut.' Indeed ' What then 



5:48 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

ss becoaie of all those persons who, for tlie last six months, have been 
by every outward and visible indication, evincing, maintaining, and 
Inculcating an opinion diametrically opposite ? Who wrote that mul- 
titude of pamphlets, with the recollection of which one's head is still 
dizzy ? Does the honorable gentleman apprehend that his arguments 
must have wrought their conversion ? 

When Bonaparte, not long ago, was desirous of reconciling the 
Nations under his dominion to the privations resulting from th<2 
exclusion of all colonial produce, he published an edict, which com* 
menced in something like the following manner, — " Whereas, sugar 
made from beet-root, or the maple-tree, is infinitely preferable to that 
of the sugar-cane," — and he then proceeded to denounce pc nalties 
against those who should persist in the use of the inferior commodity. 
The denunciation might be more effectual than the right honorable 
gentleman's Resolution ; but the preamble did not go near so far ; for. 
though it asserted the superiority of the maple and beet-root sugar, it 
rested that assertion merely on the authority of the State, and did not 
pretend to sanction it by " public estimation." 

When Galileo first promulgated the doctrine that the earth turned 
round the sun, and that the sun remained stationary in the centre of 
the universe, the holy fathers of the Inquisition took alarm at so dar- 
ing an innovation, and forthwith declared the first of these propositions 
to be false and heretical, and the other to be erroneous in point of 
faith. The Holy Office " pledged itself to believe" that the earth was 
stationary, and the sun movable. This pledge had little effect in chang- 
ing the natural course of things ; the sun and the earth continued, in 
spite of it, to preserve their accustomed relations to each other, just us 
the coin and the bank-note will, in spite of the right honorable gentle- 
man's Resolution. 

Let us leave the evil, if it must be so, to the chance of a gradual 
arid noiseless correction. But let us not resolve, as law, what is an 
incorrect and imperfect exposition of the law. Let us not resolve, as 
fact, what is contradictory to universal experience. Let us not expose 
ourselves to ridicule by resohdng, as the opinions of the People, opin- 
ions which the People do not, and which it is imjiossible they should, 
entertain. 



93. AGAINST LORD JOHN RUSSELL'S MOTION, April 26, 1822. —yd. 

There are wild theories abroad. I am not disposed to impute air 
31 motive to any man who entertains them. I will believe such a man 
to be as sincere in his conviction of the possibility of realizing his 
notions of change, without risking the trancpillity of the country, as I 
am sincere in my belief of their impracticaljility, and of the tremendous 
danger of attempting to carry them into eftect ; but, for the sake of the 
world, as well as for our own safety, let us be cautious and firm 
Other Nations, 3xcited by the example of the liberty which thia 
•sountrv has long possessed, have attempted tc copy our Constitution 



SENATORIAL. - CANNINa. 245t 

Mid flonie of ttiora have shot beyond it in the fierceness of their pursuit 
f grudge not to other Nations that share of liberty which tney may 
acquire ; — in the name of Heaven, let them enjoy it ! But let us warn 
them, that they lose not the object of their desire by the very eager- 
oess with which they attempt to grasp it. Inheritors and conservators 
of rational freedom, let us, while others are seeking it in restlessnehs 
and trouble, be a steady and shining light to guide their course, not 
a wandering meteor to bewilder and mislead them 

A search after abstract perfection in government may produce, in 
generous minds, an enterprise and enthusiasm to be recorded by the 
historian, and to be celebrated by the poet ; but such perfeftion is not 
an object of reasonable pursuit, because it is not one of possible attam- 
ment ; and never yet did a passionate struggle after an absolutely unat- 
tainable object fail to be productive of misery to an individual, of mad- 
ness and confusion to a People. As the inhabitants of those burning 
climates which lie beneath the tropical sun sigh for the coolness of the 
mountain and the grove, so (all history instructs us) do Nations which 
have basked for a time in the torrent blaze of an unmitigated liberty 
too often call upon the shades of despotism, even of military despotism, 
to cover them : 

" quis me gelldis in vallibus Hfemi 
Sistat, et ingenti ramorum protegat umbra ! " 

A protection which blights while it shelters ; which dwarfs the intellect 
and stunts the energies of man, but to which a wearied Nation will- 
ingly resorts from intolerable heats, and from perpetual danger of con- 
vulsion. 

Our lot is happily cast in the temperate zone of freedom, — the clime 
best suited to the development of the moral qualities of the human 
race, to the cultivation of their faculties, and to the security as well 
as the improvement of their virtues ; — a clime not exempt, indeed, 
from variations of the elements, but variations which purify while they 
agitate the atmosphere that we breathe. Let us be sensible of the 
advantages which it is our happiness to enjoy. Let us guard, with 
pious gratitude, the flame of genuine libsrty, that fire from Heaven, of 
which our Constitution is the holy depository ; and let us not, for the 
chance of rendering it more intense and more radiant, impaii" its purity 
or hazard its extinction 



94 ON MR. TIERNEY'S MOTION, December 11, Vm.— George Canning 

The friendship ol' Holland ! The independence of Spain ! Is there 
* man so besotted as to supfjosc that there is one hour of peace with 
France preserved by either of thcise unhappy countries, that there i$ 
uoo syllable of friendship uttered by them towards France, but whal 
is extorted by the innnediate pressure, or by the dread and terro;, of 
Vrench arms ? — 

" Mouth-honor, breath, 

Wb^.•b tbo poor heart would fain refuse, but djtre nok' 



250 THE STANDARD Sl'EAKER. 

.lave the regenerated Republic of He Hand, the degraded Monarchj 
of Spain, such reason to rejoice in the protection of the French Repub" 
lie, that they would voluntaiily throw themselves between her and eqjj 
blow which might menace h^r existence ? 

But does the honorable Gentleman intend his motion as a 
motion for peace ? If he really thinks this a moment for opening a 
negotiation, why has he not the candor and manliness tx) say go 
Mark, I entreat you, how delicately he manages it! He will not 
speak to France, but he would speak at her. He will not propose — 
not he — that we should say to the Directory, "Will you make 
peace ? " No, Sir ; we are merely to say to ourselves, loud enough for 
the Directory to overhear us, " I wish these French Gentlemen would 
make an overture to us." Now, Sir, does this save the dignity of the 
country ? or is it only a sneaking, shabby way of doing what, if fit to 
be done at all, must, to have any serious effect, be done openly, un- 
equivocally, and directly ? But I beg the honorable Gentleman's 
pardon ; — I misrepresent him ; I certainly do. His motion does not 
amount even to so much as I have stated. He begins further off. 
The soliloquy which he prompts us, by his motion, is no more than 
this — " We must continue to make war against France, to be sure; — 
and we are sorry for it ; but we will not do it as if we bore malice. 
We will not make an ill-natured, hostile kind of war any longer, — that 
we won't. And who \nows but, if they should happen to overheaj 
this resolution, as the Directory are good-natured at bottom, their 
hearts may soften and grow kind towards us — and then they will 
offer to make a peace ! " And thus, Sir, and thus only, is the motion 
a motion for peace. 

Since, lher>, Sir, this motion appears to me to be founded on no 
principle of policy or necessity ; since, if it be intended for a censure 
Dn ministers, it is unjust, — if for a control, it is nugatory; as its 
te'idency is to impair the power of prosecuting war with vigor, and to 
diminish the chance of negotiating peace with dignity, or concluding it 
with safety ; as it contradicts, without reason, and without advantage, 
the established policy of our ancestors ; as it must degrade in the eyes 
of the world the character of this country; as it must carry dismay 
and terror throughout Europe ; and, above all, as it must administer 
consolation, and hope, and power, and confidence, to France, — I shall 
give it my most hearty and decided negative. 



95. VINDICATION OF MR. PITT - George Canning 

It appears to be a measure of party to run down the fame of Mi. 
■pitt. I could not answer it to my conscience or to my feulings, if 1 
had suffered repeated provocations to pass without notice. Mr. Pitt 
tt seems, was net a great man. Is it, then, that we live \v such heroifi 
times, that the present is a race of such gigantic talents and qualities, ax 
fell reader those of Mr. Pitt, in the comparison, ordinary and contempt. 



SENATORIAL. CANNING. 25"i 

ibie 7 WIk, thou, is the man now living, — is there any ^.an uom 
sitting in this House, — who, by taking the measure of his c/wn mind 
or of that of any of his contemporaries, can feel himself justined in 
pronouncing that Mr. Pitt was not a great man ? I admire as much 
as any man tl\c abilities and ingenuity' of the honorable and learned 
gentleman who promulgated this opinion. I do not deny to him manj 
of the (jualities which go to constitute the character which he has 
described. But I think I may defy all his ingenuity to frame any 
deflnitioTi of that character which shall not applj' to Mr. Pitt, — to 
tiace any circle of greatness from which Mr. Pitt shall be excluded. 

I have no manner of objection to see placed on the same pedestal 
with Mr. ]-'itt, for the admiration of the present age and of posterity, 
other distinguished men ; and amongst them his great rival, whose 
memory is, I have no doubt, as dear to the honorable gentlemen ppiJO- 
site, as that of Mr. Pitt is to those who loved him living, and who 
revere him dead. But why should the admiration of one be incom- 
patible with justice to the other ? Why cannot we cherish the remem 
brance of the respective objects of our veneration, leaving to each other 
a similar freedom ? For my own part, I disclaim such a spirit of 
intolerance. Be it the boast and the characteristic of the school o 
Pitt, that, however provoked by illil:)eral and unjust attacks upon his 
memory, whether in speeches in this House or in calunmies out of it, 
they will never so far forget the I'espect due to him or to themselves, 
as to be betrayed into reciprocal iliiberality and injustice, — that they 
disdain to retaliate upon the memory of Mr. Pitt's great rival ! 



96. "MEASURES NOT MEN," 1802. — Georg-f Canvins: 

If 1 am pushed to the wall, and forced to speak my opinion, I have 
no disguise nor reservation : — T do think that this is a time when the 
administration of the government ought to be in the ablest and fittest 
hands ; I do not think the hands in which it is now placed answer to 
that description. I do not pretend to conceal in what quarter I think 
that fitness most eminently resides : i do not subscribe to the doctrines 
which hiive l)een advanced, that, in times like the present, the fitness 
<jf individuals for their political situation is no part of the consideration 
to which a member of Parliament may fairly turn his attention. I 
know not a more solemn or important duty that a member of Parlia- 
Bieni can have to discharge, than by giving, at fit seasons, a free 
C-]>iuion upon the character and qualities of public men. Away with 
the (;ant of '* measures, not men ! " the idle supposition that it is the 
harness, and not the horses, that draw the chariot along ! No, Sir, if 
iiid comparison must be made, if the distinction nuist be taken, mea 
are everything, measures comparatively nothing. I speak, Sir, of time* 
of diinculty and danger ; of times when systems are shaken, -whea pre^ 
ciidtiild and general rules of conduct fail. Then it is, that r,ot tc> thii^ 
or that measure, — however prudently devised, howe7er blameless in 



252 TH£ STANDARD SPEAKER. 

esecut-on, ■- but tfi the energy and character of individusiife. a Stats •ra>«1 
be indebted for its salvation. Then it is that kingdoais rise cr fall In 
proportion as they are upheld, not by well-meant endeavors (laudable 
though J hey may be), but by commanding, overavfing talents, — by abb 
■nen. 

And vrhat is the nature of the times in which we live ? I^ook at 
France, and see what we have to cope with, and consider what has made 
her what she i=!. A man ! You will tell me that she was great, an4 
power fill, and formidable, before the days of Bonaparte's government ; 
that he found in her great physical and moral resources ; that he had 
but to turn them to account. True, and he did so. Compare the 
situation in which he found France with that to which he has raised 
her. I am no panegyrist of Bonaparte; but! cannot shut my eyes 
to the superiority of his talents, to the amazing ascendency of his 
genius. Tell me not of his measures and his policy. It is his genius, 
his character, that keeps the world in awe. Sir, to meet, to check, tc 
curb, to stand up against him, we want arms of the same kind. I am 
far from objecting to the large military establishments which are pro- 
posed to you. I vote for them, with all my heart. But, for the pur- 
pose of coping with Bonaparte, one great, commanding spirit is worth 
them all. 



07. THK BALANCE OF POWER, 1826. — George Canning. 

But, then, Sir, the balance of power ! Gentlemen assert that the 
entry of the French army into Spain disturbed that balance, and we 
ought to have gone to war to restore it ! Were there no other means 
than war for restoring the balance of power ? Is the balance of power 
a fixed and unalterable standard ? Or, is it not a standard perpetu- 
ally varying, as civilization advances, and as new Nations spring up, 
and take their place among established political communities ? The 
balance of power, a century and a half ago, was to be adjusted between 
France and Spain, the Netherlands, Austria and England. Some 
years afterwards, Russia assumed her high station in European poli- 
tics. Some years after that, again, Prussia became not only a sub* 
stantive, but a preponderating monarchy. Thus, while the balance 
of power continued in principle the same, the means of adjusting it 
became more varied and enlarged. To look to the policy of Europe in 
the times of William and Anne to regulate the balance of power in 
Europe at the present day, is to disregard the progress of events, aiid 
to confuse dates and facts which throw a reciprocal light upon each 
other. 

I admit. Sir, that the entry of a French army into Spain was a 
lisparagement to Great Britain. I do not stand up here to deny that 
fact. One of the modes of redress was by a direct attack upon France, 
— by a war upon the soil of Spain. Was there no other mode of 
redress ? If France occupied Spam, was it necessary, in orier tc 
oVoid th'^ "onsequ-^.Qces of that occupation, that we should blockade 



SKNATOKIAL, — CamMNO. \J)k 

ZeiAlz ? No. I looked another way. I sought materials n? compeo 
sation in anotner hemisphere. Contemplating Spain such as ouj 
anp^jstOKS had known her, I resolved that, if" France had Spain, it should 
not be S[uiin " tvith tJie Indies." I called the New World into exist- 
ence, to redress the balance of the Old I Tims, Sir, T answer Iha 
question of the occupation of Spain by the army of France, That 
occupation is an unpaid and unredeemed burden to France. Franca 
would be glad to get rid of the possession of Spain. France would 
be very glad if England were to assist her to get rid of that posses- 
sion ; and the only way to rivet France to the possession of Sp'-'u is 
to make that possession a point of honor. The object of the measure 
before the House is not war. It is to take the last chance of peace. 
If you do not go forth, on this occasion, to the aid of Portugal, Por- 
tugal will be trampled down, to your irrecoverable disgrace; and then 
war will come, and come, too, in the train of degradation. If you 
wait until Spain have courage to mature her secret machinations into 
open hostility, you will, in a little while, have the sort of war required 
by the pacificators : and who shall say where that war shall end ? 



98. A COLLISION OF VICES, li'lh. — George Canning. 

My honorable and learned friend * began by telling us that, after 
all, hatred is no bad thing in itself. " I hate a tory," says my honor- 
able friend ; "and another man hates a cat ; but it does not follow that 
he would hunt down the cat, or I the tory." Nay, so far from it, 
hatred, if it be properly managed, is, according to my honorable 
friend's theory, no bad preface to a rational esteem and affection. It 
prepares its votaries for a reconciliation of differences ; for lying down 
with their most inveterate enemies, like the leopard and the kid in the 
vision of the prophet. This dogma is a little startling, but it is not 
altogether without precedent. It is borrowed from a character in a 
play, which is, I dare say, as great a favorite with my learned friend 
as it is with me, — I mean the comedy of the Rivals ; in which Mrs. 
Malaprop, gi^^ng a lecture on the subject of marriage to her niece 
(who is unreasonable enough to talk of liking, as a necessary prelim- 
inary to such a union), says, " What have you to do with your likingg 
and your preferences, child? Depend upon it, it is safest to begin 
with a little aversion. I am sure I hated your poor dear uncle like a 
blackamoor before we were married ; and yet, you know, my dear, 
what a good wife I mad-^ him." Such is my learned friend's argu- 
ment, to a hair. But, finding that this doctrine did not appear to go 
down with the House so glibly as he had expected, my honorable and 
learned friend presently charged his tack, and put forward a theory 
which, whether for novelty or for beauty, I pronounce to be incom- 
parable ; and, in short, as wanting nothing to recommend it but a 
slight foundation in truth. "True philosophy," says my hoKcrab.'e 
friend, " will always continue to lead men to viitue by the 'rtstruuiont' 
* Sir James Mackintosh 



254 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

alif.y of their conflicting vices- The virtues, where more than one 
exists, may live harmuniously together; but the vices bear mortal 
antipathy to one another, and, therefore, furnish to the moral engineer 
the power by which he can make each keep the otho" under control.'" 
Admirable ! but, upon this doctrine, the poor man who has but one 
single vice must be in a very bad way. No falcvum, no moral power. 
for effecting his cure ! Whereas, his more fo.* tunate neighlx)r, who 
has two or more vices in his composition, is in a fair way of becoming 
a very virtuous member of society. I wonder how ray learned friend 
would like to have this doctrine introduced into his domestic establish- 
ment. For instance, suppose that I discharge a servant because he is 
addicted to liquor, I could not venture to i-econimend him to my honor- 
able and learned friend. It miight be the poor man's only fault, and 
therefore clearly incorrigible ; but, if I had the good fortune to find 
out that he was also addicted to stealing, might I not, with a safe con- 
science, send him to ray learned friend with a strong recommendation, 
saying, " I send you a man whom I know to be a di'unkard ; but I 
am happy to assure you he is also a thief: you carmot do better than 
employ him ; you will make his drunkenness counteract his thievery, 
and no doubt you will bring him out of the conflict a very moral per- 
sonage ! " 



89 ENGLAND AND A^IEHICA. — Sir James Mackintosh. Bom, 1785 ; died, 183a 

The laws of England, founded on principles of liberty, are still, in 
substance, the code of America. Our writers, our statutes, the most 
modern decisions of our judges, are quoted in every court of justice, 
from the St. Lawrence to the Mississippi. English law, as well as 
English liberty, are the foundations on which the legislation of Amer- 
ica is founded. The authority of our jurisprudence may survive the 
power of our Grovernment for as many ages as the laws of Rome com- 
manded the reverence of Europe, after the subversion of her empire. 
Our language is as much that of America as it is that of England. 
As America increases, the glory of the great writers of England 
increases with it ; the admirers of Shakspeare and of Milton are mul- 
tiplied • the fame of every future Englishman of genius is more widely 
spread. Is it unreasonable, then, to hope that these ties of birth, of 
liberty, of laws, of langdage and of literature, may in time prevail 
-^ver vulgar, ignoble, and ruinous prejudices ? Their ancestors were 
as much the countrymen of Bacon and Newton, of Hampden and Sid'- 
ney, as ours. They are entitled to their full share of that inheritanc 
of glory which has descended from our common forefathers. Neither 
the liberty of England, nor her genius, nor the noble language which 
that genius has consecrated, is worthy of their disregard. All theae 
aonof A are theirs, if they •choose to preserve them. The history of Eng' 
land, till the adoption of counsels adverse to liberty, is their history 
We may still preserve or revive kindred feelings. They may claini 
aoble ancastor-s. and we may look forward to renowned descendants 



SErJATOIUAL. — BUUUGHAM. 255 

aiile«8 adverse prejudices should dispose them to reject those honor* 
which they have hiwfully inherited. ;iiid lead vs to envy that grcatnesB 
wliich has arisen from our institutions and will perpetuate our fame 



100. THE FATE OF TILK REFOKMEU, 1830. — I,o- I BrougKim 

I HAVE heard v. said that, when one lifts up his roice against Vhinga 
that are, and wishes for a change, he is raising a clamor against exist- 
ing institutions, a clamor against our venerable establishments, a 
clamor against the law of the land , but this is no clamor agai.'ist the 
one or the other, — it is a clamor against the abuse of thorn all. It 
is a clamor raised against the grievances that are felt. Mr. Burke, 
who was no friend to popidar excitement, — who was no ready tool of 
agitation, no hot-head id enemy of existing establishments, no urider- 
valuer of the wisdom of oui- ancestors, no scoffer against institu- 
tions as they are, — has said, and it deserves to be fixed, in letters of 
gold, over the hall of every assembly which calls itself a legislative body 
— " Where there is abuse, there ought to be clamor ; because it 
is better to have our slumber broken by the fire-bell, than to 
PERISH, AMIDST THE FLAMES, IN OUR BED." I have been told, by some 
who have little objection to the clamor, that I am a timid and a mock 
reformer ; and by others, if I go on firmly and steadily, and do not 
allow myself to be driven aside by either one outcry or another, and 
care for neither, that it is a rash and dangerous innovation which I 
propound ; and that I am taking, for the subject of my reckless experi- 
ments, things which are the objects of all men's veneration. I disre- 
gard the one as much as I dLsi'egard the other of these charges. 

" False honor charms, and lying slander scares, 
Whom, but the false and faulty 1 " * 

It has been the lot of all men, in all ages, who have aspired at tiie 
bonor of guiding, instructing, or mending mankind, to have their paths 
baset by every persecution from adversaries, by every misconstruction 
from friends ; no quarter from the one, — no charitable construction 
from the other ! To bo misconstrued, misrepresented, borne down, till 
it was in vain to bear down any longer, has been their fate. But truth 
will survive, and calumny has its day. I say that, if this be the fate 
of the reformer, — if he be the object of misrepresentation. — may not 
an inference be drawn favorable to myself? Taunted by the enemies 
■)f reform as being too rash, by the over-zealous friends of reform ivi 
6cing too slow or too cold, there is every reason for presmiiing that I 
hivc chosen the right course. A reformer must proceed steadily in 
his career ; not misled, on the one hand, by panegyric, nor discouraged 
by slander, on the other. He wants no praise. I would rather say 
— Woe to him v/hen all men speak well of him ! " I shall go on 
\M the course which I have laid down for myself; pursuing the footr 

* Falsus honor juvat et mendax infamia terret 
Quern, nisi mendosum et mendacem '^ 



256 THE STAKDAKD SPEAKKR. 

Steps of those who have gone before us, who have left us their instruc 
tions and success, — their instructions to guide our walk, and their sue 
cess to cheer our spirits. 

101. PARLIAMENTARY UEFO^M, 18Z1. —Lord Brougham. 

My Lords, I do not disguise the intense solicitude which I feel 'o' 
the event of this debate, because I know full well that the peace of 
the country is involved in the issue. I cannot look without dismay at 
the rejection of this measure of Parliamentary Reform. But, grievous 
as may be the consequences of a temporary defeat, temporary it cac 
only be ; for its ultunate, and even speedy success, is certain. Noth- 
ing can now stop it. Do not suifer yourselves to be persuaded that, 
even if the present Ministers were driven from the helm, any one could 
steer you through the troubles which surround you, without refoi-m 
But our successors would take up the task in circumstances far less 
auspicious. Under them, you would be fain to grant a bill, compared 
with which, the one we now proffer you is moderate indeed. Hear the 
parable of the Sibyl ; for it conveys a wise and wholesome moral. She 
now appears at your gate, and offera you mildly the volumes — the 
precious volumes — of wisdom and peace. The price she asks is rea 
eonable ; to restore the franchise, which, without any bargain, you 
ought voluntarily to give. You refuse her terms — her moderate 
terms ; — she darkens the porch no longer. But soon — for you cannot 
do without her wares — you call her back. Again she comes, but with 
diminished treasui'es ; the leaves of the book are in part torn away by 
lawless hands, in part defaced with characters of blood. But the 
prophetic maid has risen in her demands ; — it is Parliaments by the 
Tear — it is Vote by the Ballot — it is suffrage by the million ! 
Prom this you turn away indignant; and, for the second time, she 
departs. Beware of her third coming ! for the treasure you must 
have ; and what price she may next demand, who shall tell ? It may 
even be the mace which rests upon that woolsack ! What may follow 
your course of obstinacy, if persisted in, I cannot take upon me to pre- 
dict, nor do I wish to conjecture. But this I know full well ; that, 
as sure aa man is mortal, and to err is human, justice deferred enhances 
the price at which you must purchase safety and peace ; — nor can 
you expect to gather in another crop than tliey did who went before 
you, if vou persevere in their utterly abominable husbandry, of sowing 
injuslir^ and reaping relDeilion. 

But. among the awful considerations that now bow down my mind, 
there is one that stands preeminent above the rest. You are the 
highest judicature in the realm ; you sit here as judges, and decide all 
causes, civil and criminal, without appeal. It is a judge's first duty 
never to pronounce a sentence, in the most trifling case, without hear- 
mg. Will you make this the exception ? Are you really prepared to 
determine, but not to hear, the mighty cause, upon which a Nation's 
hopes and fears hang ? You are ? Then bewai-o of your decision ! 
House not, I beseech you, a peace-loving but a resolute People ! alie.D 



8ENAT0MAL. O'C INNELL. 25 

ttc uoi from jour bod}- the affections of a whole Empire ' As you? 
friend, as tha friend of my order, as the friend of my country, as the 
faithful servant of my sovereign, I counsel you to assist, with your 
uttermost efforts, in preserving the peace, and uiAoldinsr and perpetu- 
ating the Constitution. Therefore, I pray and exhort you not to 
reject this measure. By all you hold most dear, by all the ties that 
bind every one of us to our connnon order and our common country, I 
-olemnly adjure you, I warn you, I implore you, — yea, on my bended 
knees. I supplicate you, — reject not this bill ! 



102. UNIVERSAL RKLIGIOUS LIBERTY.— Daniel O'ConneU. 

Daniel O'Connell, the great Irish " agitator," or " liherator," as he was frequently called, was 
born in tlie county of Kerry, Ireland, in 1775. He died in 1847. " Ilis was tliat marvellous 
idmixture of inirth, pathos, drollery, earnestness, and dejection," says Charles Phillips, " which, 
well compouniled, form the true .Milesian. He could whine and wheedle, and wink with ono 
2ye while he wept with the other. Uis fun was ine-xhaustible." O'Coimell was apt to be too 
violent and vituperative in his denunciations, and they consequently failed of their effect. The 
abuse that is palpably exaggerated is not much to be feared. 

Can anything be more absurd and untenable than the argument of 
the learned gentleman, when you see it stripped of the false coloring 
he has given to it ? First, he alleges that the Catholics are attached 
to their religion with a bigoted zeal. I admit the zeal, but I utterly 
deny the bigotry. He proceeds to insist that these feelings, on our 
part, justify the apprehensions of Protestants. The Catholics, he says, 
are alarmed for their Church ; why should not the Protestants be 
alarmed, also, for theirs ? The Catholic desires safety for his religion : 
why should not the Protxjstant require security for his ? Hence he 
concludes, that, merely because the Catholic desires to keep his relig'on 
free, the Protestant is thereby justified in seeking to enslave it. He 
says that our anxiety for the preservation of our Church vindicates 
those who deem the proposed ai-rangeraent necessary for the protection 
of theirs ; — a mode of reasoning perfectly true, and perfectly applica- 
ble, if we sought any interference with, or control over, tlie Protestant 
Church, — if we asked or required that a single Catholic should be 
consulted upon the management of the Protestant Church, or of its 
revenues or privileges. 

But the fact does not bear him out ; for we do not seek nor desire, 
rioi would we accept of any kind of interference with the Protestant 
Church. We disclaim ai.d disavow any kind of control over it. We 
sksk not, nor would we allow, any Catholic authority over the mode of 
s] pointment of their clergy. Nay, we are quite content to be excluded 
forever from even advising his Majesty with respect to any n matter 
nlating to or coneerning the Protestant Church, — its rights its prop- 
erties, 01 its privileges. I will, for my own part, go much further • 
4nd I do declare, mcst solemnly, that I would feel and express equal, 
if not stronger repugnance, to the interference of a Catholic with the 
Protestant Church, than that I have expressed and do feci to an5 
Protestant interference with ours. In opposing their interference with 
IS I content myself with the mere war of words. But, if tW case 
17 



858 ZUE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

^ere reversed, — if the Catholic sought this control over the reiigiOB 
of the Protestant, — the Protestant should command my heart, mj 
tongue, my arm, in opposition to so unjust and insulting a measure- 
So help me God ! I would, in that case, not only reel for the Protestant, 
and speak for him, but I would fight for him, and cheerfully sacrifice 
my life in defence of the great principle for which 1 have ever con^ 
tended, — the principle of universal and complete religious liberty ! 



103. ON THE IRISH DISTURBANCE BILL. —Daniel O'Conneil. 

I DO not rise to fawn or cringe to this House ; — I do not rise tc 
iicate you to be merciful toward the Nation to which I belong, — 
toward a Nation which, though subject to England, yet is distinct from 
it. It is a distinct Nation : it has been treated as such by this country, 
as may be proved by history, and by seven hundred years of tyranny. 
I call upon this House, as you value the liberty of England, not to 
allow the present nefarious bill to pass. In it are involved the liberties 
of England, the liberty of the Press, and of every other institution 
dear to Englishmen. Against the bill I protest, in the name of the 
Irish People, and in the face of Heaven. I treat with scorn the punj 
and pitifal assertions, that grievances are not to be complained of, — 
that our redress is not to be agitated ; for, in such cases, remonstrances 
cannot be too strong, agitation cannot be too violent, to show to the 
world with what injustice our fair claims are met, and under what 
tyranny the People suffer. 

The clause which does away with trial by jury, — what, in the 
name of Heaven, is it, if it is not the establishment of a revolutionary 
tribunal? It drives the judge from his bench; it does away with 
that which is more sacred than the Throne itself, — that for which your 
king reigns, vcur lords deliberate, your commons assemble. If ever I 
doubted, before, of the success of our agitation for repeal, this bill, — 
this infamous bill, — the way in which it has been received by the 
House ; the manner in which its opponents have been treated ; the per- 
sonalities to which they have been subjected ; the yells with which 
one of them has this night been greeted, — all these things dissipate 
my doubts, and t'ill me of its complete and early triumph. Do you 
think those yells will be forgotten ? Do you suppose their echo will 
not reach the plains of my injured and insulted country ; that they 
will not be whispered in her green valleys, and heard from her lofty 
Mils ? 0, they will be heard thei'e ! — yes ; and they will not be for- 
gotten The youth of Ireland will bound with indignation , - - thev 
will say, •' We arc eight millions ; and you treat us thus, as though W€ 
were no more to your country than the isle of Guernsey or of Jersey ! ' 

I liave done my duty. I stand acquitted to my conscience and mj 
•sountry. I have opposed this measure throughout ; and I now pro 
test against it, as harsh, oppressive, uncalled for, unjust ; — as estab 
lishing an infamous precedent, by retaliating crime against criaoe ; - 
»» ijr&imom, — cruelly and vindictively tyraniious ! 



SEXATORIAU BYRON. 258 

MM THK Df ATIi ?LNALTY FOR NEW OFFENCES, lSV2. — Lora Byron. B. r.78 ; d.)834. 

Setting aside the pJpable injustice and the certain inefficiency of 
iLiS Bill, are there not capital punishments sufficient in your statutes 1 
r.s there not blood enough upon j^our penal code, that more must be 
[Kiured forth, to ascend to Heaven and testily against you ? How will 
you carry this Bill into effect ? Can you commit a whole country ta 
their own prison ? Will you erect a gibbet in every field, and hang up 
men like scarecrows ? or will you proceed (as you must, to bring this 
measure into effect) by decimation ; place the country under martial 
law ; depopulate and lay waste all around you ; and restore Sherwofjd 
Forest as an acceptable gift to the Crown, in its former condition of a 
royal chase, and an asylum for outlaws ? Are these the remedies for 
a starving and desperate populace ? Will the famished wretch who 
has braved your bayonets be appalled by your gibbets ? When death 
is a relief, and the only relief, it appears, that you will afford him, will 
he be dragooned into tranquillity ? Will that which could not be 
effected by your grenadiers be accomplished by your executioners ? 

If you proceed bv the forms of law, where is your evidence ? Those 
who have refused to impeach their accomplices when transportation only 
was the punishment, will hardly be tempted to witness against them v.'hen 
death is the penalty. With all deference to the noble Lords opposite, 
I think a little investigation — some previous inquiry — would induce 
iven them to change their purpose. That most favorite State measure, 
so marvellously efficacious in many and recent instances, — temporiz' 
mg, — would not be without its advantage in this. When a pro[)Osal 
is made to emancipate or relieve, you hesitate, you deliberate for years, 
— you temporize and tamper with the minds of men ; but a death-bill 
must be passed off hand, without a thought of the consequences. Sure 
I am, from what I have heard, and from what I have seen, that to pass 
the Bill, under all the existing circumstances, without inquiry, with- 
out deliberation, would only be to add injustice to irritation, and bar- 
barity to neglect. 

The framers of such a Bill must be content to inherit the honors of 
that Athenian lawgiver,* whose edicts were said to be written not in 
ink, but in blood. But suppose it passed, — suppose one of theso 
men, as I have seen them, meagre with famine, sullen with despair, 
careless of a life which your Lordships are, perhaps, about to value at 
something less than the price of a stocking-frame, — suppose this nnin 
surrounded by those children, for whom he is unable to procure bread 
at the hazard of his existence, about to be torn forever from a family 
which he lately supported in peaceful industry, and which it is not his 
fault that he can no longer so support ; — suppose this man, — and 
there are ten thousand such, from whom you may select your victima, 
—-dragged into Court, to be tried, for this new offence, by this new 
law, — still, there are two things wanting to convict and condemn him, 
imd these are, in my opinion, twelve butchers for a Jury, and a TeflVies 
J'jr a Judge ! 

• Dracon, the author of t,hp firot wi-itf.pn w>r!o nfiow*- *■',- ***>o7i,f 



260 THE STANDARD SPKs_£EK. 

i06. ON CHARGES AGA.NST ROMAN CATHOLICS, 182?. — SAf!?, 

ilicnaril Lalor Sheil was born in Dublin, Ireland, August .6th, 1791, and died at floreocs 
Italy, wnpre he held the post of British Minister, May '25th, 1851. He was returned to tlM 
imperial Parliament in 1829, and for twenty years was a prominent meniter of the House o{ 
Commons. A contemporary says of him: "His great earnestness and apparent sincerity., his 
anrivalled felicity iif illustration, his extraordinary power of pushing the meaning of words t<i 
the utmost extent, and wringing from tliem a force beyond the range of ordinary expressicm, 
were such, that, when he rose to speak, members took their places, and the hum of private coD- 
7i?rsation was husJied, in order that the House might enjoy the performances of an afjcomplishwi 
irtist." His style of speaking was peculiar; Ids gesticu'ation raj/id, fierce, aud incessant; 
his i;nnnciation remarkably quick and impetuous. His matter was uniformly weD arrant! aj 
and lof'cal. He cnrefuUy prepared himself before speaking. 

Calumniators of Catholicism, have you read the history of youi' 
countr}' ? Of the charges against the religion of Ireland, the annals 
f.f England afford the conftitation. The body of your common law was 
given by the Catholic Alfred. He gave you your judges, your magis- 
trates, your high-sheriifs, your courts of justice, your elective system, 
and, the great bulwark of your liberties, the trial by jury. Who con- 
ferred upon the People the right of self-taxation, and fixed, if he did 
not create, their representation? The Catholic Edward the First; 
\chile, in the reign of Edward the Third, perfection was g-iven to the 
representative system, Pai-liaments were annually called, and the 
statute against constructive treason was enacted. It is false, — foully, 
infamously false, — that the Catholic religion, the relig-ion of youT 
forefathers, the religion of seven millions of your fellow-subjects, has 
been the auxiliary of debasement, and that to its influence the sup- 
pression of British freedom can, in a single instance, be referred. I 
am loath to say that which can give you cause to take offence ; but, 
when the faith of my country is made the object of imputation, I 
cannot help, I cannot refrain, from breaking into a retaliatory inter- 
rogation, and from asking whether the overthrow of the old religjon of 
England was not effected by a tyrant, with a hand of iron and a heart 
of stone ; — whether Henry did not trample upon freedom, while upon 
Catholicism he set his foot ; and whether Elizabeth herself, the virgin 
of the Reformation, did not inherit her despotism with her creed ; 
whether in her reign the most barbarous atrocities were not committed ; 
— whether torture, in violation of the Catholic common law of England, 
was not politically inflicted, and with the shrieks of agony the Towers 
of Julius, in the dead of night, did not reecho ? 

You may suggest to me that in the larger portion of Catholic 
Europe freedom does not exist ; but 3"ou should bear in mind that, at 
a period when the Catholic religion was in 'its most palmy state, free- 
dom flouiished in the countries in which it is now extinct. False. — I 
repeat it, with all the vehemence of indignant asseveration, — utterly 
false is the charge habitually preferred against the religion which 
Englishmen have laden with penalties, and have marked with degrada- 
tion. I can bear with any other charge but this — to any other charge 
I can listen with endurance. Tell me that I prostrate myself before a 
sculptured marble ; tell me that to a canvass glowing with the 
imagery of Heaven I bend my laiee ; tell me that my faith is xriy 
perdition ; — and, as you traver-se the church-yards in wliich vour tbro- 



SEr^ATfRlAL. — SIIKIL. 261 

SitherP are buried, pronounce upon those who have lain thet 5 'or nianj 
hundred vears a fearful and appalling sentence, — yes. call what 1 
regard as the truth not only -ui error, but a sin, to which mercy shall 
not be extended, — all this I will bear, — to all this I will sublimit, ^ 
nay, at all this I will but smile, ,— but do not tell me that I am in 
Ueart and creed a slave! — 77iat, my countrymen cannot brook! In 
their own bosoms they carry the high consciousness that never waa 
imf utation more foully false, or more detestably calumnious ! 



106. IRISH ALIENS AND ENGLISH VICTORIES. — ■SAttZ 

Ihis brilliant apiieal — one of the mostelu(iueut in the annals of British oratory — is fromSheil'l 
Speech on the Iridi .Muuiciiial Hill, in the House of Coniiiious, February 22a, 183". The epi- 
soile was called firth m :;- u,; h:'..i .;■ >-\iii-essi^jn uiiicli L n'l Lvii'lhurst hail employeil, some 
time hefire, in tlie llnL-- ! i i . .inu.lin- t^ llie InM, a- - .aiens, in liloiid a'li.l reli-ion." 
DurinfjSheiPs sl)eecl^ l.i- I- ; :- - - -atiii- ui)il-i- I In- .'.;,i|. rv ; an.l it is recunle.UhiU SlieU 
shook his hea.l iiuli-namly :,i lim. ;i- \v si.uke. Tli.' :Ml.vt ai.un the House was very marked. 
Nearly ail tlie memliers turneil towaids J.nnl Ijyinlliursl ; anil the shouts of the Ministerialists, 
encountered by the vehement outcries of tlie Cnnsei-vaiives, continued for some minutes. The 
latter half of this speech demands jjreat rapidity of utterance in the delivery. 

I SHOULD be surprised, indeed, if, while you are doing us wrong, you 
did not profess your solicitude to do us jastice. From the day on which 
Strongbow set his foot upon the shore of Ireland, Englishmen were 
never wanting in protestations of their deep anxiety to do us justice ; 
— even Strafford, the deserter of the People's cause, — the renegade 
Wentworth, who gave evidence in Ireland of the spirit of instinctive 
tyranny which predominated in his character, — even Strafford, while 
he trampled upon our rights, and trod upon the heart of the country, 
protested his solicitude to do justice to Ireland ! What marvel is it, 
then, that Gentlemen opposite should deal in such vehement protesta- 
tions 5j(^here is, however, one man, of great abilities, — not a member 
of this House, but whose talents and whose boldness have placed him 
in the topmost place in his party, — who, disdaining all imposture, and 
thinking it the best course to appeal directly to the religious and 
national antipathies of the People of this country, — abandoning all 
reserve, and flinging off the slender veil by which his political associ- 
ates aft'ect to cover, although they cannot hide, their motives, — dis- 
tinctly and audaciously tells the Irish People that they are not 
entitled to the same privileges as Englishmen ; and pronounces them, 
in any particular which could enter his minute eiiumerutioii of the 
circumstances by which fellow-citizenship is created, in race, idennty 
and religion, to be aliens ; — to be aliens in race, to be aliens in 
country, to be aliens in religion ! Aliens ! n'ood God ! was Arthur. 
Duke of Wellington, in the House of Lords, — ml did he not start, «p 
and exclaim, "Hold! I have seen the aliens do their duty!" 
The Duke of Wellington is not a man of an excitable temperament. 
His mind ls of a cast too martial to be easily moved ; but, notwith- 
standing his habitual inflexibility, I cannot help thinking that, when he 
Veard his iioinan Catholic countrymen (for we are his countrymen) 
d«signateu 'oy a pnrase as offensive as the alniiidaut vocabulary of his 
slocjuent confederate could supply, — I caimot help thinking thai h^ 



i62 THE STANDARD SPEA/CEK. 

aught to have recollected the many fields of fight m whic^ we hav« 
been contributors to his renown. " The battles, sieges, fi)rtunes thai 
he has passed," ought to have come back upon him. He ought to 
have remembered that, from the earliest achievement in which hi 
displayed that military genius which has placed hiui foremost in the 
annals of modern warfare, down to that last and surpassmg combat 
which has made his name imperishable, — from Assaye to Waterloo^ 

— ■ the Irish soldiers, with whom your armies are filled, were the 
inseparable auxiliaries to the glory with which his unparalleled 
successes have been crowned. Whose were the arms that drove 
your bayonets at Vimiera through the phalanxes that "never reeled 
in the shock of war before ? What desperate valor climbed the 
steeps and filled the moats at Badajos ? * All his victories should have 
lushed and crowded back upon his memory, — Vimiera, Badajos, Sal- 
amanca, Albuera, Toulouse, and, last of all, the greatest . Tell 

nie, — for you were thei'e, — I appeal to the gallant soldier before me 
(Sir Henry Hardinge), from whose opinions I differ, but who bears, 
I know, a generous heart in an intrepid breast ; — tell me, — for you 
must needs remember, — on that day when the destinies of mankind 
were trembling in the balance, while death fell in showers, when 
the artillery of France was levelled with a precision of the most deadly 
«cience, — when her legions, incited by the voice and inspired by the 
example of their mighty leader, rushed again and again to the onset, 

— tell me if, for an instant, when to hesitate for an instant was to be 
lost, the " aliens " blenched ? And when, at length, the moment for 
the last and decided movement had arrived, and the valor which had 
so long been wisely checked was, at last, let loose, — when, with words 
familiar, but immortal, the great captain commanded the great assault, 

— tell me if Catholic Ireland with less heroic valor than the natives 
f>f this your own glorious country precipitated herself upon the foe ? 
The blood of England, Scotland, and of Ireland, flowed in the same 
stream, and drenched the same field. When the chill morning 
dawned, their dead lay cold and stark together ; — in the same deep 
pit their bodies were deposited ; the green corn of spring is now 
breaking from their commingled dust ; the dew falls from Heaven 
upon their union in the grave. Partakers in every peril, in the 
glory shall we not be permitted to participate ; and shall we be told, 
as a requital, that we are estranged from the noble country for whose 
salvation our life-blood was poured out ? 



107. THE ESTABLISHED CHURCH OF IRELAND. —/rf. 

1 LaF down a very plain proposition, and it is this, — however harsi 
rhe truth, it must be told, — it is this : — Whatever may be youi 
inclination, you have not the ability to maintain the Irish establish- 
meot <lt first vi^w the subject seems to be a wretched dispnt* 

•Pronounced Ba-dak-yhor. 



SKN'ATORIAL. SHEIL. 2t>S 

iK.tween Ca(holic and Protestant — a miserable sectarian controversy 
It i& no such thing; it is the struggle lor complete political equalitj 
on the part of the overwhelming majority upon the one hand, and for 
political ascendency on the part of the minority on the ether. Oai 
that ascendency be maintained? Taught so long, but uninstructed 
still, wherefore, in the same fatal policy, with an infatuated perti< 
nacity, do you disastrously persevere? Can you wish, and, if you 
wish, can you hope, that this unnjrfcural, galling, exasperatiuj'' apriwid. 
ency sho?iId be maintained ? Things cannot remain as they are. To 
what expedient will you fly ? Would you drive the country into 
insurrection, cut down the People, and bid the 3^eomanry draw 
forth the swords clotted with the blood of 1798, that they may be 
brandished in massacre, and sheathed in the Nation's heart? Foi 
what, into these terrific possibilities, a)-e we madly, desperately, 
impiously, to plunge ? For the Irish Church ! — the Church of the 
minority, long the Church of the State, never the Church of the 
People ; the Church on which a faction fattens, by which a Nation 
starves ; the Church from which no imaginable good can flow, but 
evil after evil, in such black and continuous abundance, has been for 
centuries, and is to this day, poured out; the Church by which 
religion has been retarded, morality has been vitiated, atrocity has 
been engendered; which standing armies are requisite to sustain, 
which has cost England millions of her treasure, and Ireland torrents 
of her blood ! 

To distinctions between Catholic and Protestant let there be ac 
end. Let there be an end to national animosities, as well as to seeta^ 
rian detestations. Perish the bad theology, which, with an impious 
converse, makes God according to man's image, and with infernal 
passions fills the heart of man ! Perish the bad, the narrow, the per- 
nicious sentiment, which, for the genuine love of country, institutes a 
feeling of despotic domination upon your part, and of provincial 
turlmlence upon ours ! 



xHE REPEAL OF THE UNION, 1834. — /d. 

The population of Ireland has doubled since the Union. What is 
the condition of the mass of the People ? Has her capital increased 
in the same proportion ? Behold the famine, the wretchedness and 
pestilence, of the Irish hovel, and, if you have the heart to do so, 
mock at the calamities of the country, and proceed in your demon- 
strations of the prosperity of Ireland. The mass of the People are 
in a condition more wretched than that of any Nation in Europe; 
tliey are worse housed, worse covered, worse fed, than the basest boors 
in the provinces of Russia ; they dwell in habitati'' us to which your 
."wine would not be committed ; they are covered with rags which 
your beggars would disdain to wear, and not only do they nevei 
taste the flesh of the animals which crowd into your markets, bu* 



iOA 



'xHE STA^DARD SPEAKER. 



while tho sweui drops from their brows, they never touch the Wrtiad 
into which their harvests are converted. For yo^i they toiJ, fur yoti 
they delve ; they reclaim the bog, and drive the plough to tne 
mountain's top, for you. And where does all this misery exist ? It, 
a country teeming with fertility, and stamped with the beiieficeni 
intents of God ! When the famine of Ireland prevailed, — when her 
cries crossed the Channel, and pierced your ears, and reached youi 
hearts, — the granaries of Ireland were bursting with their coKtentH 
and, while a People knelt down and stretched out their hands for 
food, the business of deportation, the absentee tribute, was going on ' 
Talk of the prosperity of Ireland ! Talk of the external magnifi 
cence of a poor-house, gorged with misei'y within ! 

But the Secretary for the Treasury exclaims : " If the agitators 
would but let us alone, and allow Ireland to be tranquil ! " — The 
agitators, forsooth ! Does he venture — has he the intrepidity — tc 
speak thus ? Agitators ! Against deep potations let the drunkard 
rail ; — at Crockford's let there be homilies against the dice-box ; — 
let every libertine lament the progress of licentiousness, when his 
Majesty's ministers deplore the influence of demagogues, and Whig& 
complain of agitation ! How did you carry the Reform ? Was it not 
by impelling the People almost to the verge of revolution? Was 
there a stimulant for their passions, was there a provocative for 
their excitement, to which you did not resort ? If you have for- 
gotten, do you think that we shall fail to remember your meetings at 
Edinburgh, at Paisley, at Manchester, at Birmingham ? Did not 
three hunared thousand men as.^'Bmble ? Did they not pass resolu- 
tions against taxes ? Did they not threaten to march on London ? 
Did not two of the cabinet mini.'sters indite to them epistles of grati- 
tude and of admiration ? and do they now dare — have they the 
audacity — to speak of agitatiun ? Have we not as good a title tc 
demand the restitution of our Parliament, as the ministers to insist 
on the reform of this House J 



109. ENGLAND'S MISRULE OF IRELAND — Id. 

Ttt in Ireland, a country that ought to teem with abundance, there 
prevails wretcnedness without example, — if millions of paupers are 
there without employment, and often without food or raiment. — where 
iS the fault ? Is it in the sky, which showers verdure ? — is it in tho 
'5oll, which is surprisingly fertile ? — or is it in the fatal course which 
you the arbiters of her destiny, have adopted ? She has for centurifs 
belonged to England. England has used her for centuries as she has 
pleased, ffow has she used her, and what has been the result? A 
code of laws was in the first place established, to which, in the annals 
of legislative atrocity, there is not a parallel : and of that code — 
those institutes of unnatural ascendency — the Irish Church is a rem- 
lant, In Heaven's name, what useful purpose has jour gorgeouf 
Establishment ev ir promoted ? You cannot hope to pros/dytize m 



AEXATORl^L PALMERSTON. 265 

tbxongh its ir.eans You have put the experiment to tne test of three 
•y^nturlcjj. You hive tried everything. If the truth he with you, it 
j"iy be great ; but in this instance it docs not sustain the aphorism - 
for it does not prevail. If, in a religious point of view, the EstaL 
Eshmcnt cannot conduce to the interests of religion, what purpose does 
it answer? It is said that it cements the Union — cements the 
(Jnion ! It furnishes the great argument against the Union ; it ia 
the most degrading incident of all the incidents of degradation by 
which that measure was accompanied ; it is the yoke the brand, the 
shame and the exasperation, of Ireland ! 

Public opinion and public feeling have been created in Irelanil. 
Men of all classes have been instructed in the principles on which the 
rights of Nations depend. The humblest peasant, amidst destitution 
the most abject, has learned to respect himself. I remember when, if 
you struck him, he cowered beneath the blow ; but now, lift up your 
hand, the spirit of insulted manhood will start up in a bosom covered 
with rags, — his Celtic blood will boil as yours would do, — and he 
will feel, and he will act, as if he had been born where the person of 
every citizen is sacred from aftVonts, and from his birth had breathed 
the moral atmosphere which you are accustomed to inhale. In the 
name of millions of my countrymen, assimilated to yourselves, I 
demand the reduction of a great abuse, — the retrenchment of a mon- 
strous sinecui'e, — I demand justice at your hands! "Justice to 
Ireland " is a phrase which has been, I am well aware, treated as a topic 
for derision ; but the time will come, — nor is it, perhaps, rcmoto, — 
when you will not be able to extract much matter for ridicule from those 
trite but not trivial words. " Do justice to America," exclaimed the 
father of that man by whom the Irish Union was accomplished ; " do 
it to-night, — do it before you sleep." In your National Gallery is a 
picture on which Lord Lyndhurst should look : it was painted by 
Copley,* and represents the death of Chatham, who did not live long 
after the celebrated invocation was pronounced. " Do justice to 
America, — do it to-night, — do it before you sleep ! " There were men 
by whom that warning was heard who laughed when it was uttered. 
Have a care lest injustice to Ireland and to America may not be 
followed by the same results, — lest mournfulness may not succeed to 
mirth, and another page in the history of England may not be writ 
in her heart's blood ! 



110 CIVIL WAR THE GREATEST NATIONAL EVlh,lS29.— Lord Palmerston. 

Then cox7ie we to the last remedy, — civil war. Some gentlemec 
gay that, sooner or later, we must fight for it, and the sword must 
decide. They tell us that, if l)lood wore but shed in Ireland, Catholic 
iHP.ancipation might be avoided. Sir, when honorable members shaD 

♦ Lord Lyndhurst's father. .John Singleton Copley was born in Boston, JIassBr 
Ohusetts, 1738, and died in 1815. Many of hig best painting? are ui the UmM 
BtHtcs, and are much psteem • 1 



266 THE STANDARD SPEAKER 

be a liUle deeper read in the history of Ireland, they will find that m 
Ireland blood has been shed, — that in Ireland leaders have been seized 
trials have been had, and punishments have been inflicted. They wil] 
find, indeed, almost every page of the history of Ireland darkened by 
bloodshed, by seizijres, by trials, and by punishments. But what hae 
been the efiect of these measures ? They have, indeed, been successful 
in quelling the disturbances of the moment; but they never have gone 
to their cause, and have only fixed deeper the poisoned barb tliat 
rankles in the heart of Ireland. Can one believe one's ears, when one 
hears respectable men talk so lightly — nay, almost so wishfullv — ot* 
jivil war ? Do they reflect what a countless multitude of ills thog'' 
three short syllables contain ? It is well, indeed, for the gentlemen ot 
England, who live secure under the protecting shadow of the law, 
<vhose slumbers have never been broken by the clashing of angry 
swords, whose harvests have never been trodden down by the conflict 
of hostile feet, — it is well for them to talk of civil war, as if it were 
Rome holiday pastime, or some sport of children : 

" They jest at scars who never felt a wound." 

But, that gentlemen from unfortunate and ill-starred Ireland, who 
have seen with their own eyes, and heard with th.eir own ears, the mis- 
eries which civil war produces, — who have known, by their own experi- 
ence, the barbarism, ?y, the barbarity, which it engenders, — that 
such persons should look upon civil war as anything short of the last 
and greatest of national calamities, — is to me a matter of the deepest 
and most unmixed astonishment. I will grant, if you will, that the 
success of such a war with Ireland would be as signal and complete 
as would be its injustice ; I will grant, if you will, that resistance 
would soon be extinguished with tlie lives of those who resisted ; I 
will grant, if you will, that th? crimsoned banner of England would 
soon wave, in undisputed supremacy, over the smoking ashes of their 
towns, and the blood-stained solitude of their fields. But I tell you 
that England herself never would permit the achievement of such a 
conquest ; England would reject, with disgust, laurels that were dyed 
in fraternal blood; England would recoil, with loathing and abhor- 
rence, from the bare contemplation of so devilish a triumph I 



111. ON PARLIAMENTARY REFORM. —Lord John Ruxse.ll, June 24, 1831. 

1 AM not one of those. Sir, who would hold out to the People vain 
of immediate benefit, which it could not realize, from thia 



•neasure. Neither am I one of those who maintain the opposite theory, 
such as is well expressed in a well-known couplet, — 



" How small, of all that human hearts endure, 
That part which laws or kings can cause or ci 



Fai am I ''rom agreeing in the opinion which the poet has so well 
expressed in those lines. They are very pretty poeirv, but tboy are 



SENATORIAL. MACAULAY. 25) 

m^t true in politics. "V\1ien I look to one country as compared tc 
auothcr at the ditierent epochs of their history, I inn forced to believt 
that it is upon law and government that the prospcrily and morality, 
the power and intelligence, of every Nation depend. Wlicn I compare 
Spain (in which the traveller is met l)y the stiletto in the streets, avA 
by the carbine in the high roads) to England, in the poorest parts of 
which the traveller passes without fear, I think tlie difference is 
occasioneil by the different Governments under which the People live. 
.iVt least, Sir, it cannot be denied, that the end attained by the two 
Grovernments of these respective countries is essentially different. Is 
it possible, indeed, for any intelligent person to travel through coun- 
tries, and not trace the characters and conduct of the inhabitants to the 
nature of tneir Institutions and Governments ? When I propose, 
therefore, a Reform of Parliament, — when I propose that the People 
shall send into this House real Representatives, to delilierate on their 
wants and to consult for their interests, to consider their griev- 
ances and attend to their desires, — when I propose that they shall 
in fact, as they hitherto have been said to do in theory, possess tlie 
vast power of holding the purse-strings of the monarch, — I do it under 
the conviction that I am laying the foundation of the greatest improve- 
meat in the comforts and well-being of the People. 



112. THE ESTABLISHED CHUKCH OF IRELAND, 1845. — T. B. Macaulay. 

Of all the institutions now existing in the civilized world, the 
Established Church of Ireland seems to me the most absurd. Is there 
anything else like it? Was there ever anything else like it? The 
world is full of ecclesiastical establishments. But such a portent as 
this Church of Ireland is nowhere to be found. Look round the con- 
tinent of Europe. Ecclesiastical establishments from the White Sea 
to the Mediterranean; ecclesiastical establishments from the Wolga tc 
the Atlantic; but nowhere . the church of a small minority enjoying 
exclusive establishment. Look at America. There you have all forms 
of Christianity, fi-om Mormonism — if you call Mormonism Christianity 
— to Romanism. In some places you have the voluntary system. In 
Bome you have several religions connected with the State. In sonw 
you have the solitary ascendency of a single Church. But nowhere, 
from the Arcti-- CircL to Cape Horn, do you find the Cliurch of a 
smaFi mmority exclusively established. In one country alone — in 
Ireland alone — is to be seen the spectacle of a community of eight 
millions of human beings, with a Church which is the Church of only 
eight hundred thousand! 

Two hundred and eighty-five years has this Church been at work. 
What could have been done for it in the way of authority, privileges, 
endowments, which has not been done ? Did any other set of bislrops 
and priests in the world ever receive so much for doing so little 1 
Nay, did any other set of bishops and priests in the world ever receive 
haF as much for doing twice as much ? And what ha^e we to fhow 



268 fHE SlANDAKD &P JAKEll. 

for all this lavish expenditure ? What, but the njost zealous 'RouiaE 
Catholic populati m on the face of the earth ? On the great, solid 
Liiass of the iloman Catholic population you have made no impression 
whatever. There they are, as they were ages ago, ten to one against 
the members of your Established Church. Explain this to m_e. I 
speak to you, the zealous Protestants on the other side of the House 
Explain this to me on Protestant principles. If I were a Roman 
Catholic, I could easily account for the phenomenon. If I wore a 
Roman Catholic, I should content myself with saying that the mighty 
hand and the outstretched arm had been put forth according to tbt' 
promise, in defence of the unchangeable Church ; that He, who, in the 
old time, turned into blessings the curses of Balaam, and smote the 
host of Sennacherib, had signally confounded the arts and the power 
of heretic statesmen. But what is the Protestant to say ? Is this a 
miracle, that we should stand aghast at it ? Not at all. It is a result 
which human prudence ought to have long ago foreseen, and long ago 
averted. It is the natural succession of effect to cause. A Church 
exists for moral ends. A Church exists to be loved, to be reverenced 
to be heard with docility, to reign in the understandings and hearts of 
men. A Church which is abhorred is useless, or worse than useless 
and to quarter a hostile Church on a conquered People, as you would 
quarter a soldiery, is, therefoi*e, the most absurd of mistakes. 



113. ON LIMITING THE HOURS OF liABOR, 1846. — T. B. Macaulay. 

If we consider man simply in a commercial point of view, simply 
as a machine for productive labor, let us not forget what a piece of 
mechanism he is, — how " fearfully and wonderfully made." If we 
have a fine horse, we do not use him exactly as a steam-engine ; and 
still less should we treat man so, more especially in his earlier years. 
The depressing labor that begins early in life, and is continued too 
long every day, enfeebles his body, enervates his mind, weakens his 
spirits, overpowers his undej standing, and is incompatible with auj 
good or useful degree of education. A state of society in which such 
a system prevails will inevitably, and in no long space, feel its baneful 
effects. What is it which makes one community prosperous and flour- 
ishing, more than another ? You will not say that it is the soil ; you 
will not say that it is its climate ; you will not say that it is its min- 
eral wealth, or its natural advantages, — its ports, or its great rivers. 
Is it anything in the earth, or in the air, that makes Scotland a richer 
country than Egypt ; or, Batavia, with its marshes, more prosperous 
than Sicily ? No ; but Scotchmen made Scotland what she is, and 
Dutchmen raised their marshes to such eminence. Look to America. 
Two centuries ago, it was a wilderness of buffaloes and wolves. What 
has caused the change ? Is it her rich mould ? Is it her mighty 
rivers ? Is it her broad waters ? No ; her plains were then as fertile 
«s they aro now, — h?r rivers were as nimierous. Nor was it any great 



SENATORIAl — MACAUIAY. 2G9 

unouiit of capita] that the emigrants carried out with thera. Tlicy 
took a mere pittance. What is it, then, that has effected the change 1 
ft is simply this, — you placed the Englishman, instead of the red 
man, upon the soil , and the Englishman, intelligent and energetic, cut 
down the forests, turned them into cities and tieets, and covered the 
land with harvests and orchards in their place. 

I am convinced, Sir, that this question of limiting the hours of lalwr, 
being a question connected, for the must part, with persons of tender 
years. — a question in which public health is concerned, and a question 
relating to public morality, — it is one with which the State may prop- 
erly interfere. Sir, as lawgivers, we have errors of two different kinds 
to repair. We have done that which we ought not to have done ; we 
have left undone that which we ought to have done. We have regu- 
lated that which we ought to have left to regulate itself; we have left 
unregulated that which it was our especial business to have regulated. 
We have given to certain branches of industry a protection which was 
their bane. We have withheld from puljlic health, and from public 
morality, a protection which it wa.s our duty to have given. We have 
prevented the laborer from getting his loaf where he could get it 
cheapest, but we have not prevented him from prematurely destroying 
the health of his body and mind, by inordinate toil. I hope and 
believe that we are approaching the end of a vicious system of inter- 
ference, and of a vicious system of non-interference. 



114. REFORM, THAT YOU MAY PRESERVE, March 2, 1831. — T. B. Macaulay. 

Turn where we may, — within, around, — the voice of great events 
ia proclaiming to us, " Reform, that you may preserve ! " Now, there- 
fore, while everything at home and abroad forebodes ruin to those who 
persist in a hopeless struggle against the spirit of the age ; now, while 
the crash of the proudest Throne of the Continent is still resounding 
in our ears ; now, while the roof of a British palace affords an igno- 
minious shelter to the exiled heir of forty Kings;* now, while we see 
on every side ancient institutions subverted, and great societies dis- 
solved ; now, while the heart of England is still sound ; now, while 
the old feelings and the old associations retain a power and a charm 
which may too soon pass away ; now, in this your accepted time, — 
now, in this your day of salvation, — take counsel, not of prejudice, not 
of party spirit, not of the ignominious pride of a fatal consistency, but 
of history, of reason, of the ages which are past, of the signs of this 
most portentous time. Pronounce in a manner worthy of the expect- 
ation with which this great debate has been anticipated, and of the 
long remen brance which it will leave behind. Renew the youth of 
zhe State. Save property, divided against itself. Save the nmltitudo 
tndaxigered by their own ungovernable passions. Save the aristocracy 
radangered by its own unpopular power. Save the greatest, and fair 

* Charles the Tenth, of France. 



170 THE STANDAED SlfcjiKER. 

est, hzid. most Mghly civilized community that ever existed, from caiam 
Ides which may in a few days sweep away all the rich heritage of st 
many ages of wisdom and glory. The danger is terrible. The time 
is short. If this bill should be rejected, I pray to God that none of 
those who concur in rejecting it may ever remember their votes with 
unavailing regret, anudst the wreck of laws, the confusion of ranks, 
the spoliation of property, and the dissolution of social order. 



115. MEN ALWAYS FIT FOK FREEDOM.- T. B. Macaulay. 

Thfre is only one cure for the evils which newly-acquired freedort 
produces, — and that cure is freedom ! Wlien a prisoner leaves his 
cell, he cannot bear the light of day ; he is unable to discriminate 
colors, or recognize faces ; but the remedy is not to remand him into 
his dungeon, but to accustom him to the rays of the sun. The blaze 
of truth and liberty may at first dazzle and bewilder Nations which 
have become half blind in the house of bondage ; but let them gaze on 
and they will soon be able to bear it. In a few years men learn t<: 
reason ; the extreme violence of opinion subsides ; hostile theories cor 
rect each other ; the scattered elements of truth cease to conflict, and 
begin to coalesce ; and, at length, a system of justice and order is 
educed out of the chaos. Many politicians of our time are in the 
habit of laying it down as a self-evident proposition, that no People 
ought to be free till they are fit to use their freedom. The maxim is 
worthy of the fool in the old story, who resolved not to go into the 
water till he had learned to swim ! If men are to wait for liberty till 
they become wise and good in slavery th^y mdij, indeed, wait forever ' 



116. THE REFORM BILL A SECOND BILL OF RIGHTS, Jult 5, 1831. — /d. 

The whole of history shows that all great Revolutions have been 
produced by a disproportion between society and its institutions ; for, 
while society has grown, its institutions have not kept pace, and accom- 
modated themselves to its improvements. The history of England is 
the history of a succession of Reforms ; and the very reason that the 
People of England are great and happy is, that their history is the 
history of Reform. The great Charter, the first assembling of Par- 
liament, the Petition of Right, the Revolution, and, lastly, this great 
measure, are all proofs of my position, — are all progressive stages in 
the progress of society, — and I am fully convinced that every argu- 
ment urged against the step we are now called upon to take might have 
-^en advanced with equal justice against any of the other ihanges I 
have enumerated. At the present moment we everywhere see society 
TOtgrowing our institutions. Let us contrast our connnerce wealth, 
and perfect civilization, with our Penal Laws, at once barbarous and 
ineflScitnt. — the preposterous fictions of pleading, the mummery oi 



I 



WHNATORIAL. M ACAULA1 . 271 

fines and recoveries, the chaos of precedents, and the bottoinloss pit 
of Chancery. Here we see the barbarism of the thirteenth centurj 
coupled with the civilization of the nineteenth ; and we see, too, that 
the barbarism belongs to the Government, and the civilization to the 
People. Then I s:iy that this incongruous state of things cannot con- 
tinue ; and, if we do not terminate it with wisdom, ere long we shiill 
find it ended with violence. 

I fear, that it may be deemed unbecoming in me to make any appli- 
cation to the fears of Members of this House. But surely I may. 
without reproach, address myself to their honest fears. It is well to 
talk of opposing a firm front to sedition. But woe to the Government 
that cannot distinguish between a Nation and a mob I woe to tht 
Government that thinks a great and steady movement of mind is to 
be put down like a riot .' This error has been twice fatal to the Bour- 
bons : it may be fatal to the Legislature of this country, if they should 
venture to foster it. I do belie\'e that the irrevocable moment has 
arrived. Nothing can prevent the passing of this noble law, — this 
second Bill of Rights. I do call it the second Bill of Rights ; and so 
will the country call it, and so will our children. I call it a greater 
charter of the liberties of England. Eighteen hundred and thirty- 
oiie is destined to exhibit the first example of an established, of a 
deep-rooted system, removed without bloodshed, or violence, or rapine, 
— all points being debated, every punctilio observed, the peaceful 
industry of the country never for a moment checked or compromised 
And the authority of the law not for one instant suspended. 



117. PUBLIC OPINION AND THE SWORD, Oct. 10, 1831— r. B. Macaulay 

At the present moment I can see only one question in the State, 
the Question of Reform ; only two parties — the friends of the Bill, and 
its enemies. No observant and unprejudiced man can look forward, 
without great alarm, to the efiects which the recent decision of the 
Lords may possibly produce. I do not predict, I do not expect, 
open, armed insurrection. What I apprehend is this — that the People 
may engage in a silent but extensive and persevering war against the 
law. It is easy to say, " Be bold ; be firm ; defy intimidation ; let 
.ihe law have its course ; the law is strong enough to put down the 
seditious." Sir, we have heard this blustering before ; and we know 
in what it ended. It is the blustering of little men, whose lot has 
fallen on a gr-cat crisis. Xerxes scourging the waves, Canute com- 
manding the waves to recede from his footstool, were but types of the 
felly. The law has no eyes ; the law has no hands ; the law is noth- 
ing — nothing but a piece of paper printed by the King's printer, with 
Lhe King's arms at the top — till public opinion breathe's the breath o^ 
life into the dead letter. We found this in Ireland. The elections of 
1820 — the Cl'xre election, two years later — proved the folly of those 
who thmk that Nations are governed by wax and parchment ; and, u» 



272 THE STANDAllI, SPEAKER, 

length, ia tne clo^ie of 1828, the Government had only one plain alte^ 
native before it • — concession or civil war. 

I know only two ways in which societies can permanently be gov« 
erned — by Public Opinion, and by the Sword. A Government having 
at its command the armies, the fleets, and the revenues of Great Brit 
ain, might possibly hold Ireland by the Sword. So Oliver Cromwell 
held Ireland ; so William the Third held it ; so Mr. Pitt held it ; so 
the Duke of Wellington might, perhaps, have held it. But, to govern 
Great Britain by the Sword — so wild a thought has never, I will ven- 
ture to say, occurred to any public man of any party ; and, if any man 
were frantic enough to make the attempt, he would find, before three 
days had expired that there is no better Sword than that which is 
fashioned out of a Ploughshare ! But, if not by the Sword, how is the 
people to be governed ? I understand how the peace is kept at New 
York. It is by the assent and support of the People. I understand, 
also, how the peace is kept at Milan. It is by the bayonets of the 
Austrian soldiers. But how the peace is to be kept when you have 
neither the popular assent nor the military force, — how the peace is 
to be li spt in England by a Government acting on the principles of the 
present Opposition, — I do not understand. 

Sir, we read that, in old times, when the villeins * were driven to 
revolt bj oppression, — when the castles of the nobility were burned to 
the ground, — when the warehouses of London were pillaged, — when 
a hundred thousand insurgents appeared in arms on Blackheath, — 
when a foul murder, perpetrated in their presence, had raised their 
passions to madness, — when they were looking round for some Cap- 
tain to succeed and avenge him whom they had lost, — just then, before 
Hob Miller, or Tom Carter, or Jack Straw, could place himself at their 
head, the King rode up to them, and exclaimed, " I will be you. 
leader ! " — And, at once, the infuriated multitude laid down theii 
arms, submitted to his guidance, dispersed at his command. Herein 
let as imitate him. Let us say to the People, " We are your lead- 
ers, — we, your own House of Commons." This tone it is our interest 
and our duty to take. The circumstances admit of no delay. Even 
while I speak, the moments are passing away, — the irx-evocable 
moments, pregnant with the destiny of a great People. The country is 
an danger ; it may be saved : loe can save it. This is the way — this 
Is the time. In our hands are the issues of great good and great evil 
«-»the isHuos of the life and death of the State ! 



118 A GOVERNMENT SHOULD GROW WITH THE PEOPLE Dec. 16, 1831.- Id. 

It is a principle never to be forgotten, that it is not by absolute, but 
bj relative misgovernment, that Nations are roused to madness. Look 
at our own history. The liberties of the English people were, at least, 

* A word derived from the Latin villa ; whence villani, country people. The nam< 
WiSS given, in Anglo-Noruian times., to persons not proprietors of land, m-'.ny cJ 
vhora were &tta(~hed to the land, and bound to serve the lord of the manor 



SENATORIAL.- MACAULAT. 27<5 

\s much rebpected by Charles the First as by Henry the Eighth, — by 
Jamas the Second, as by Edward tho Sixth. But did tliis save the 
jrcwn of James the Second? Did this save the head of Charles tne 
First ? Every person who knows the history of our civil dissensiona 
knows that all those arguments whicli are now employed by the oppo- 
nents of the Reform Bill might have been employed, and were actually 
employed, by the unfortunate Stuarts. The reasoning of Charles, and 
of all his apologists, runs thus : " What new grievance does the Nation 
8uiier ? Did the People ever enjoy more freedom than at present* 
Did they ever enjoy so much freedom ? " But what would a wise and 
honest counsellor have replied ? He would have said : " Though there 
ha.s been no change in the Government for the worse, there has been a 
change in the public mind, which produces exactly the same effect 
which would be produced by a change in the Government for the worse. 
It may be that the submissive loyalty of our fathers was preferable to 
that iufjuiring, censuring, resisting spirit which is now abroad. And 
so it may be that infancy is a happier time than manhood, and manhood 
than old age. But God has decreed that old age shall succeed to man- 
hood, and manhood to infancy. Even so have societies their law of 
growth. As their strength becomes greater, as their experience 
becomes more extensive, you can no longer confine them within the 
swaddling-bands, or lull them in the cradles, or amuse them with the 
rattles, or terrify them with the bugbears, of their infancy. I do not 
say that they are better or happier than they were ; but this I say, — 
they are different from what they were ; you cannot again make them 
what they were, and you cannot safely treat them as if they continued 
to be what they were." 

This was the advice which a wise and honest IMinister would have 
given to Charles the First. These were the principles on which that 
unhappy prince should have acted. But no. He would govern, — I 
do not say ill — I do not say tyrannically ; I say only this, — he would 
govern the men of the seventeenth century as if they had been th-d 
men of the sixteenth century ; and therefore it was that all his talents, 
and all his virtues, did not save him from unpopularity — from civil 
war — from a prison — from a bar — from a scaiFold ! 



119. REFORM IRRESISTIBLE. — T. B. Macaulay. Dec. 16, 1831. 

Sir, I have, from the beginning of these discussions, supported 
lleforna, on two grounds : first, because I believe it to be in itself a 
good thing ; and, secondly, because I think the dangers of withholding 
it to be so great, that, even if it were an evil, it would be the less of 
iwo evils. I shall not relinquish the hope that this great contest may 
oe conducted, by lawful means, to a happy termination. But, of this 
I am assured, that, by means lawful or unlawful, to a termination, 
happy cr unhappy, this contest must speedily come. All that I know 
jf the history of past times, all the observations that I have been 
18 



274 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

»ble to mak" ')n the present state of the country, have convinoed flie 
thf>t the time has arrived when a great concession must be made to 
the democracy of Enghind ; that the question, whether the change be 
in itsolf good or bad, has become a question of secondary importance : 
«hat, good or bad, the thing must be done ; that a law as strong a& 
the laws of attraction and motion has decreed it. I well know that 
history, when we look at it in small portions, may be so construed as 
to mean anything ; that it may be interpreted in as many ways as a 
Delphic oracle, " The French Revolution," says one expositor, " was 
the effect of concession." "Not so," cries another; "the French 
Revolution was produced by the obstinacy of an arbitrary Govern 
ment." These controversies can never be brought to any decisive test, 
or to any satisfactory conclusion. But, as I believe that history, 
when we look at it in small fragments, proves aiaything or nothing, so 
I believe that it is full of useful and precious instruction when we 
contemplate it in large portions, — when we take in, at one view, the 
whole life-time of great societies. We have heard it said a hundred 
times, during these discussions, that the People of England are more 
free than ever they were that the Government is more Democratic 
than ever it was ; and this is urged as an argument against Reform. 
I admit the fact, but I deny the inference. The history of England 
is the history of a Government constantly giving way, — sometimes 
peaceably, sometimes after a violent struggle, — but constantly giving 
way before a Nation which has been constantly advancing. It is not 
sufficient to look merely at the form of Government. We must look 
to the state of the public mind. The worst tyrant that ever had his 
neck wrung in modern Europe might have passed for a paragon in 
Persia or Morocco. Our Indian subjects submit patiently to a monop- 
oly of salt. We tried a stamp-duty — a duty so light as to be scarcely 
perceptible — on the fierce breed of the old Puritans : and we lost an 
Empire ! The Government of Louis the Sixteenth was certainly a 
much better and milder Government than that of Louis the Four- 
teenth : yet Louis the Foui-teenth was admired, and even loved, by his 
People ; Louis the Sixteenth died on the scaffold ! Why ? Because. 
though the Government had made many steps in the career of improve- 
ment, it had not advanced so rapidly as the Nation. 

These things are written for our instruction. There is a change in 
■Pociety. There must be a corresponding change in the GoA^ernment. 
V"ou may make the change tedious ; you may make it violent : yt/u 
aiay — God, in his mercy, forbid ! — you may make it bloody ; but aver* 
It you cannot. Agitations of the public mind, so deep and so long con 
tinued as those which we have witnessed, do not end in nothing. 1b 
oeace, oi in convulsion, — by the law, or in spite of the law, — through 
the Parliament, or over the Parliament, — Reform must be carried 
Therefore, be content to guide that movement which you cannot stop. 
Pliug wide the gates to that force which else will enter through the 
neacb 



SENATORIAL. CROKER. 27t 

1« REPLY TO THE FOREGOING, Dec. 16, 1831. - John If Json Crcker 

Has tiie learned gentleman, who has been so eloquent on the neces- 
liity of proceeding forward, — whc has told the IIou.se that argunient i* 
vain; that there is no resisting the niighty torrent that there is 
dire neee.ssity for the whole measure, — has he given the slightest 
intimation of what would be, even in his opinion, the end of tho 
career, the result of the experiment, the issue of the danger ? Haa 
he seanr;ed with the eye of a philo.sopher the probable progre.ss of 
future events ? Not at all. Anything more vague, anythizig more 
indefinite, anything more purely declamatory, than the statements of 
the learned gentleman on that point, has never fallen from human lips, 
It is true that the learned gentleman has told the House that the town 
is besieged by superior forces, and has advised them to open the gatea 
of the fortress, lest it should be stormed at the breach. But did he 
tell them that they could open the gates with safety ? — without expos- 
ing their property to plunder, and their persons to massacre ? They 
were not, under the learned gentleman's ad\'ice, to attempt to make 
any terms ; but they were at once to throw open the gates, and await 
the consequences, however fatal ; and submit to the tender mercies of 
the victors, even though there should be pillage, bloodshed and exter- 
mination. 

The present state of the ream is unparalleled in history. The dan- 
ger to which the Government is exposed is greater than the jM iiiistera 
themselves have ever imagined. As the progress of agitation may be 
tracked through fire and blood, the pusillanimity of Ministers can be 
also traced through every act of their administi'ation, even those that 
Beemed the boldest. There is no word that they say, no act that they 
do, no act that they abstain from doing, that is not carefully calculated 
to offend as little as possible, when they cannot altogether conciliate, 
the Political Unions, and similar illegal and anarchical associations. 
Ministere have raised a storm which it is beyond their power, beyond 
the scope of their minds, to allay. In conclusion, I can assure the 
House that, in the censures I have passed on His Majesty's Ministers, 
and in the appalling prospects I have laid before the House, I have 
urged nothing but what springs from the most imperious sense of the 
danger of the country ; a danger for which I confess that I do not see 
a remedy, although convinced that there are no means so calculated 
to aggravate it to a tremendous extent as passing a Reform. Bill. 



\21. PERII3 OF PARLIAMENTARY REFORM, BiAROH 4, 1H31.— John Wilsan CrokfT. 

Sir what is to be gained by this change in the Representation ? 
Are we to throw away admitted and substantial benefits, in the pursuit 
Df an undefined, inexplicable, and, to my view, most perilous liuitasy' 
Sir, the learned l^ord, after exhausting his eloquence in the praise of 
the general prospects of the country, turned short round on us, and 
irew a frightful and metaphorical picture of the present state of th«f 



276 THE STANDARD SPEAKEK. 

fmntry, atiS the appalling consequences of rsfiising the conc.issioa^ 
which the esisting clamor demands. He told you, Sir, that the stonnj 
tides of popular commotion were rising rapidly around u^ ; that th6 
Stygian waters were rapidly gaining upon us, and that it was time for 
us — and barely time — to endeavor to save ourselves from being 
swallowed up by the devouring waves. He told you that the deluge 
of public opinion was about to overwhelm you ; and he invited you tc 
enibark with him on this frail and crazy raft, constructed in the blim- 
dering haste of terror, as the only means of escaping from destraction, 
IN^o Sir, no ! trust not 

" that fatal and perfidious bark, 
Built in the eclipse, and rigged with curses dark! " 

No, Sir ! stand firm where you are, and wait until the threatening 
waters sukside. What you hear is not only a fictitious, but a factitiou,s 
clamor, lie you calm, steady and bold ; and the People, under the 
influence of your v/isdom and courage, will recover their wonted judg- 
ment, and become sensible of the value of what they would lose by 
this scheme, and of the uselessness of what they might gain. Of the 
Constitution of this country there might, perhaps, have been a better 
theoretical arrangement ; but I do, in njy heart, firmly believe that 
no human ingenuity could, a priori, have conceived so admirable a 
practical system, promoting, in such nice and just degrees, the wealth, 
'lappiness and liberties, of the community at large, — 

*' Where jarring interests, reconciled, create 
The according music of a well-mixed State; 
Where small and great, where weak and strong, are made 
To serve, not suffer, — strengthen, not invade; 
More powerful each, as needful to the rest, 
And, in proportion as it blesses, blest! " 



122. EXTENSION OF THE TERM OF COPYRIGHT, 1838. — T. N. Talfourd. 

There is something, Sir, peculiarly unjust in bounding the terra oi 
an author's property by his natural life, if he should survive so short 
a period as twenty-eight years. It denies to age and experience the 
probable reward it permits to youth — to youth, sufficiently full of 
hope and joy to slight its promises. It gives a bounty to haste, and 
informs the laborious student, who would wear away his strength to 
complete some work which " the world will not willingly let die,'" 
that the more of his life he devotes to its perfection, the more limited 
shall be his interest in its fruits. When his works assume their place 
among the classics of his country, your law declares that those works 
shall become your property ; and you requite him by seizing the patri- 
mony oi' his children ! 

In the words of Mr. Wordsworth's petition, " This bill has for its 
main object to relieve men of letters from the thraldom of be^ng 
forced to court the living generation to aid them in rising above 
lavish taste and degraded prejudice, and to encourage them to rely os 
their own impulses." Surely this is an object worthy of tMe I^gisl* 



BKNiTORIAL. — TALFOURD, 277 

are of a great People, especially in an age where restless activity 
wid increasing knowledge present temptations to the sligiit and the 
superficial which do not exist in a ruder age. Let those who ' to 
beguile the time look like the time " have their fair scope, — let cheap 
».nd innocent publications be multiplied as much as you please, — still, 
the character of the age dcniands something impiessed with a noblei 
lalx)r, and directed to a higher aim. " The immortal mind craves 
objects tiiat endure." The printers need not fear. There will not ba 
too many candidates for "a bright reversion," which only falls in 
when the ear shall be deaf to human praise. 

I have been accused of asking you to legislate " on some sort of 
sentimental feeling." I deny the charge. The living truth is with 
us. The spectral phantoms of depopulated printing-houses and shops 
are the baseless fancies of our opponents. If I were here beseeching 
indulgence for the frailties and excesses which sometimes attend fine 
talents, — if I were here appealing to your sympathy in behalf of 
crushed hopes and irregular aspirations, — the accusation would be just. 
I plead not for the erratic, but for the sage ; not for the perishing, but 
for the eternal : for him who, poet, philosopher or historian, girds 
himself for some toil lasting as life, lays aside all frivolous pursuits 
for one virtuous purpose, that, when encouraged by the distant ho}>e 
of that " ALL-HAIL HEREAFTER " which shall welcome him among the 
heirs of fame, he may not shudder to think of it as sounding with 
hollow mockery in the ears of those whom he loves, and waking sullen 
echoes by the side of a cheerless hearth ! For such I ask this boon, 
and through them for mankind ; — and I ask it with the confidence, 
in the expression of which your veteran petitioner, Wordsworth, 
closed Lis appeal to you, " That in this, as in all other cases, justice 
is capable of working out its own expediency." 



123. REALITY OF LITERARY PROPERTY, 1838. — W. 

It is, indeed, time that literature should experience some of the 
blessings of legislation. If we should now simply repeal all the 
statutes which have been passed under the guise of encouraging 
learning, and leave it to be protected only by the principles of the 
common kw, and the remedies which the common law would supply. 
[ believe the relief would be welcome. It did not occur to our 
ancestors that the right of deriving solid benefits from that wiiioh 
springs solely from within us, — the right of property in that which 
the mind itself creates, and which, so far from exhausting the mate- 
rials common to all men, or limiting their resources, enriches and 
jxpands them, — a right of property which, by the happy peculiarity 
of its nature, can only be enjoyed by the proprietor in projxirtion as 
it blesses mankind, — should be exempted from the protection which 
w extended to the ancient appropriation of the soil, and the rewarda 
tff aommerci^l enterprise. 



278 



STANDAKD SPEAKER. 



" But," saj tLe opponents of this measure, " we tLiuK that, mm 
the moment an author puts his thoughts on paper, and delivers thom 
to the world, his property therein wholly ceases." ■ What ! has he 
invested no capita. ? embarked no fortune ? If human life is nothing 
ia your commercial tables, — if the sacrifice of profession, of health 
of grain . is nothing. — surely the mere outlay of him who has perilled 
his fortune to instruct mankind may claim some i-egard ! Or is the 
interest itself so refined, so ethereal, that you cannot regard it aa 
property, because it is not palpable to sense as to feeling ? Is there 
any justice in this ? If so, why do you protect moral character as 
a man's most precious possession, and comi>ensate the party who 
3uffrrs unjustly in that character by damages ? Has this possession 
any existence half so palpable as the author's right in the printed 
creation of his brain ? I have always thought it one of the proudest 
triumphs of human law, that it is able to recognize and to guard this 
breath and finer spirit of moral action ; that it can lend its aid in 
sheltering that invisible property, which exists solely in the admira- 
tion and affection of others ; and, if it may do this, why may it not 
protect his interest in those living words, which, as was well observed 
by that great thinker, Mr. Hazlitt, are, " after all, the only things 
which last forever " ? 



124. AN INTERNATIONAL COPYEIGHT. — /d. 

In venturing to invite the attention of the House to the state of 
the law affecting the property of men of letters in the results of 
their genius and labors, I would advert to one other consideration as 
connected with this subject. I would urge the expediency and 
justice of acknowledging the rights of foreigiiers to copyright in this 
country, and of claiming it from them for ourselves in return. The 
great minds of our time have an audience to impress far vaster thap 
it entered into the minds of their predecessors to hope for ; an 
audience increasing as population thickens in the cities of America, 
and spreads itself out through its diminishing wilds ; an audience 
who speak our language, and who look on our old poets as their own 
immortal ancestry. 

And if this, our literature, shall be theirs, — if its difiusion shall 
follow the efforts of the stout heart and sturdy arm, in their triumph 
over the obstacles of nature, — if the woods, stretching beyond their 
tjonfines, shall be haunted with visions of beauty which our poeta 
have created, ^ let those who thus are softening the ruggedness of 
young society have some present interest about which affection may 
gather ; and, at least, let them be protected from those who would 
exhibit them, mangled or corrupted, to their transatlantic disciples. 
I do not, in truth, ask for literature fixvor; I do not ask for il 
charity. I do not even appeal to gratitude in its behaif. But I ask 
for it a portion, and but a portion, of that commor ''ustice which th« 



SENATORIAL. - PEt,^. ilM 

coarsest indufetry obtains for its natural reward ; justice, whico 
Qothiug but the very extent of its claims, and the nobleness of thu 
associations to which they are akin, have prevented it from receiving 
from our laws. 



124. THE LEGISLATR'E UNION, 1834 — Sir Robert Ptet. Born , IISS ; dzed, liM. 

I WANT no array of figures, I want no official documents, I want nr 
speeches of six hours, to establish to my satisfaction the public policy 
of maintaining the Legislative Union. I feel and know that the repea' 
of it must lead to the dismemberment of this great empire, must make 
Great Britain a fourth-rate power of Euiope, and Ireland a savage 
wilderness ; and I will give, therefore, at once, and without hesitation, 
an emphatic negative to the motion 'for repeal. There are truths 
which lie too deep for argument, — truths, to the establishment of 
which the evidence of the senses, or the feelings of the heart, have 
contributed more than the slow process of reasoning ; — which are 
graven in deeper characters than any that reason can either impress or 
effai^e AVhen Doctor Johnson was asked to refute the arguments for 
the non-existence of matter, he stamped his foot upon the ground, and 
exclaimed, " I refute them thus." When Mr. Canning heard tho 
first whisper in this House of a repeal of the Union, this was all tho 
answer he vouchsafed, — the eloquent and indignant answer, the tones 
of which are still familiar to my ear, — " Repeal the Union ? Restore 
the Heptarchy ! " 

Thirty-three years have now elapsed S'liice the passing of the act of 
Union ; — a short period, if you count by the lapse of time ; but it is a 
period into which the events of centuries have been crowded. It 
includes the commencement and the close of the most tremendous con- 
flict which ever desolated the world. Notwithstanding the then recent 
convulsions in Ireland, — notwithstanding the dissatisfaction expressed 
with the Union, — the United Empire, that had been incorporated onlr 
three years before the commencement of the war, escaped the calami 
ties to wliich other Nations were exposed. In our gallant armies no 
distinction of Englishmen and Irishmen was known ; none of the vile 
jealousies, which this motion, if successful, would generate, impaired 
the energies which were exertod by all in defence of a common coun- 
try, That country did not bestow its rewards with a partial hand. 
It did not, because they were Irishmen, pay a less sincere or less will- 
ing homage to the glorious memory of a Ponsonby and a Pakenham. 
Castlereagh and Canning fought in the same ranks with Pitt ; and 
Grattan took his place, in the great contests of party, by the side of 
Fox. The majestic oak of the forest was transplanted, but it shot its 
roots deep in a richer and more congenial soil. Above all, to an Irish- 
man — to that Arthur Wellesley, who, in the emphatic words of the 
learned gentleman (Mr. Shcil), " eclipsed his military victories by the 
splendor of his civil triumphs'' — to him was committed, with th'f 



,J80 t^E STANDARD SPEAKER 

ttttjnimous assent and conlidence of a generous couuiry> the great anc 
glorious task of effecting the deliverance of the world. Who Is that 
Irishman, who, recollecting these things, has the spirit and the heart 
to propose that Ireland shall be defrauded for the future of her shai'e 
of such high achievements ; that to her the wide avenues to civil and 
military glory shall be hereafter closed; that the faculties and ener- 
gies of her sons shall be forever stunted by being cramped within the 
paltry limits of a small island ? Surely, Sir, we owe it to the memory 
of the illustrious brave, who died in defending this great Empire from 
dismemberment by the force and genius of Napoleon, at least to save 
it from dismemberment by the ignoble enemies that now assail it ! 



126. AMERICAN MERCHANT YESSELS, ISbO. — Richard Cobden. 

I SOMETIMES quote the United States of America ; and, I think, in this 
matter of national defence, they set us a very good example. Does 
anybody dare to attack that Nation ? There is not a more formidable 
Power, in every sense of the word, — although you may talk of France 
and Russia, — than the United States of America ; and there is not a 
statesman with a head on his shoulders who does not know it , and yet 
the policy of the United States has been to keep a very small amount 
of armed force in existence. At the present moment, they have not a 
line-of-battle ship afloat, notwithstanding the vast extension of their 
commercial marine. Last year she recalled the last ship-of-war from 
the Pacific ; and I shall be very much astonished if you see another 
The People are well employed, and her taxation is light, which coun- 
tries cannot have if they burden themselves with the expense of these 
enormous armaments. 

Now, many persons appeal to the English Nation under the impres- 
sion that they are a very pugnacious People. I am not quite sure that 
' we are not. I am not quite sure that my opponents do not sometimes 
have the advantage over me in appealing to the ready-primed pug- 
nacity of our fellow-countrymen. I believe I am pugnacious myself ; 
but what I want is, to persuade my countrymen to preserve their 
pugnaciousness until somebody comes to attack them. Be assured, 
if you want to be prepared for future war, yoii will be better prepared 
Ui the way that the United States is prepared, — by the enormous 
number of merchant ships of large tonnage constantly building ; in 
'die vast number of steamers turning out of the building-yards at New 
York, — those enormous steamers, finer than any to be found in the 
royal navies of any country on the continent of Europe, commonly 
extending from fifteen hundred to sixteen hundred tons. If the spirit 
of America were once aroused and her resentment excited, her mercan- 
tile marine alone, — the growth of commerce, the result of a low taxa- 
tion, and a prosperous People, — her mercantile marine alone would b« 
more than a match for any war navy that exists on the contiLeut of 
Europe 



I 



BKNM'JIUAL. — KENRy. '28i 



127 iJSSISTANCE TO BRITISH AGGRESSION.- Patrick Henry, 

Pafrick Henry was born, May 29th, 1736, in Hanover county, Virginia. His f«(L:r was i 
.^tive of Aberileou, in Scotland. Patrick's education was scanty, and he entered ui'un the prac- 
tice cf tke law after only six weeks of prepiiration. liu' his powers of eloijuence were remark- 
«ble. Us was elected rei)ealeilly to the most important olBces in the gift of the l'eoi)'.i; of Vir- 
ginia. In 1788, he was a member of the Convention which met '.here to consider the Constitution 
3f the United States, and e.\erted himself strenuouiily a^'ainst its adoption, lie died in 1799. 

The Virginia Convention naviog before them resolutions of a temporizing cliaracter towards 
Gruai Britain, March 'iSd, 1775, .Mr. Henry introiluced others, manly and decided in their ton" 
and providing that the Colony should be immediately put in a state of defence. These couiitei 
resolutions he supported in the following memorable speech, the result of which was their adop- 
tion. Of the effect of this speech, Mr. Wirt says, that, when Henry took his seat, at its close. 
" No murmur of ai)plHUse was heard. The effect was too deep. After 'lie trance of a momentj 
several members started from their seats. The cry to arms ! seemed to quiver on every lip, and 
gleam from every eye. They became impatient of sfo' .■*. Theur souls were on fire for 
action." 

Mr. President it is natural to man to indulge in the illusions of Hope. 
We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth, and listen to the 
6ong of that siren, till she transforms us into beasts. Is this the part 
of wise men, engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty ? 
Are we disposed to be of the number of those who, having eyes, see 
not, and having ears, hear not, the things which so nearly concern 
our temporal salvation ? For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it 
may cost, I am willing to know the whole truth, — to know the worst, 
and to provide for it ! 

I have but one lamp, by which my feet are guided ; and that is the 
lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging of the future but 
by the past. And, judging by the past, I wish to know what there 
has been in the conduct of the British ministry, for the last ten years, 
to justify those hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to 
solace themselves and the House? Is it that insidious smile with 
which our petition has been lately received ? Trust it not, Sir ; it will 
prove a snare to your feet ! Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed 
with a kiss ! Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our peti- 
tion comports with those warlike preparations which cover our waters 
and darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of 
love and reconciliation ? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be 
reconciled, that force must be called in to win back our love? 

Let us not deceive ourselves, Sir. These are the implements of war 
and subjugation, — the last arguments to which Kings resort. I ask 
Grentlemen, Sir, what means this martial array, if its purpose be not to 
force us to submission ? Can Gentlemen a.ssign any other possible 
motive for it ? Has Great Britain any enemy in this quarter of tho 
world, to call for all this accumulation of navies and armies ? No, Sir, 
she has none. They are meant for us ; they can be meant for no other. 
I'hey are sent over to bind and rivet upon us those chains which tho 
British ministry have been so long forging. And what have we to 
oppose to them ? — Shall we try argument ? Sir, we have been trying 
that, for the lest ten years. Have we anything new to offer upon the 
object ? Nothing. We have held the subject up in every light of 
ffhich it is capable ; but it has been all in vain. 

Shall w« resort to entreaty and tumble supplication? What torma 



SiSti THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

shall we find wLich have not already been exhausted Let us nf)i,, 
iteseech jou, Sir, deceive ourselves longer. Sir, we hare done everj 
thing that could be done, to avert the storm which is now coming on. 
We have petitioned, we have remonstrated, we have supplicated, wt 
have prostrated ourselves before the Throne, and have implored ite 
interposition to irrest the tyrannical hands of the Ministry and Parlia. 
rnent. Our petitions have been slighted, our remonstrances have pro 
iuced additional violence and insult, our supplications have been disre- 
garded, and we have been spurned, with contempt, from the foot of the 
Throne. 

In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace 
Slid reconciiiaticn. There ig no longer any room for hope. If wt 
wish to be free, — if we mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable 
privileges for which we have been so long contending, — if we mean 
not basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so 
long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon 
until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained, — we must 
Sght ; I repeat it, Sir, we must fight! An appeal to arms, and to the 
God of Hosts, is all that is left us ! 



12S. THE WAR INEVITABLE, March, 1115. — Patrick Henry. 

They tell us. Sir, that we are weak, — unable to cope with so formi- 
Jable an adversary. I)ut when shall we be stronger ? Will it be the 
next week, or the next year ? Will it be when we are totally dis- 
armed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house ? 
Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction ? Shall we 
acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on our 
backs, and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies 
F,hall have bound us hand and foot ? Sir, we are not weak, if we make 
a proper use of those means which the God of nature hath placed in 
oiir power. 

Three millions of People, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in 
•iuch a country as that which we possess, are invincible by any force 
which our enemy can send against us. Besides, Sir, we shall not fight 
"ur battles alone. There is a just God who presides over the desti- 
nies of Nations, and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for 
as. The battle. Sir, is not to the strong alone ; it is to the vigilant, 
the active, the brave. Besides, Sir, we have no election. If we were 
base enough to desire it^ it is now too late to retire from the contest. 
There is no retreat but in submission and slavery ! Our chains are 
forged ! Their clunking may be heard on the plains of Boston ! The 
»"ar is inevitable ; and let it come ! I repeat it. Sir, let it come ! 

It is in vain, Sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, 
peace, peace ! — but there is no peace. The war is actually begun ! The 
iiext gale that sweeps fi-om the North will bring lo our ears tho clask 
»f resounding arms! Our brethren are already in thefieli! Whj 
Ha..i(i we here idle ? What is it that Gentlemen wish ? V\ hat woul? 



SENATORIAL. — HEXUY. 288 

they have ? Is lift so dear, or pear-e bo sweet, as to be purchased at 
the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it. Almighty (jod! 1 kno\» 
not what course others may take; but as lor me, give me liberty, oi 
give me death ! 



lis. RETURN OF BRITISH FUGITU'ES, l'iS2. — Patrick Henry 

I VENTURE to prophesy, there are those now living who will see thU 
fevorcd land amongst the most powerful on earth, — able. Sir, to take 
care of herself, without resorting to that policy, which is always so 
dangerous, though sometimes unavoidable, of calling in foreign aid. 
Yes. Sir, they will see her great in arts and in arms, — her golden 
harvests waving over fields of inmieasurable extent, her commercfi 
penetrating the most distant seas, and her cannon silencing the vain 
boasts of those who now proudly affect to rule the waves. But, Sir, 
you must have men, — you cannot get along without them. Those 
heavy forests of valuable timl^er, under which your lands are groaning, 
must be cleax-ed away. Those vast riches which cover the face of your 
soil, as well as those which lie hid in its bosom, are to be developed 
and gathered only by the skill and enterprise of men. Your timbei", 
Sir, must be worked up into ships, to transport the productions of the 
soil from which it has been cleared. Then, you must have commercial 
men and commercial capital, to take off your productions, and find the 
best markets for them abroad. Your great want, Sir, is the want of 
men ; and these you must have, and will have speedily, if you are 
wise. 

Do you ask how you are to get them ? Open your doors, Sir, and 
they will come in ! The population of the Old World is full to over- 
flowing. That population is ground, too, by the oppressions of the 
Governments under which they live. Sir, they are already standing 
on tiptoe upon their native shores, and looking to your coasts with a 
wistful and longing eye. They see here a land blessed with natural 
and political advantages, which are not equalled by those of any other 
TOuntry upon earth ; — a land on which a gracious Providence hath 
emptied the horn of abundance, — a land over which Peace hath now 
stretched forth her white wings, aiid where Content and Plenty lie 
down at every door ! 

Sir, they see something still more attractive than all this. They 
Bee a land in which Liberty hath taken up her abode, — that Liberty 
whom they had considered as a fabled goddess, existing only in the 
fancies of poets. They see her here a real divinity, — her altars rising 
on every hand, throughout these happy States ; her glories chanted by 
three millions of tongues, and the whole region smiling under her 
bles-ed influ3nce. Sir, let but this, our celestial goddess, Liberty 
stretch forth her fair hand toward the People of the Old World, — 
tell them to come, and bid them welcome, — and you will see them 
pouring in from the North, from the South, from the Kast, and frou 
the Weat. Your wildernesses will be cleared and settled, youi desa-t* 



£84 THR STANDARD SPEAKER. 

Kill smile, oui ranks will be filled, and you will snun be ih a co'iditica 
to defy the powers of any adversary 

But Gentlemen object to any accession from Great Britain, and par 
fcioularly to the return of the British refugees. Sir, I feel no objection 
to the return of those deluded people. They have, to be sure, mistaKen 
their own interests most wofully ; and most wofuUy have they suffered 
the punishment due to their offences. But the relations which we bear 
to them, and to their native country, are now changed. Their King 
hath acknowledged our independence ; the quarrel is over, peace hath 
returned, and found us a free People. Let us have the magnanimity, 
Sir, to lay aside our antipathies and prejudices, and consider the sub- 
ject in a political light. Those are an enterprising, moneyed people 
They will be serviceable in taking off the surplus produce of our lands, 
and supplying us with necessaries, during the infant state of our manu • 
factures. Even if they be inimical to us in point of feeling and prin- 
ciple, I can see no objection, in a political view, in making them trib- 
utary to our advantage. And, as I have no prejudices to prevent my 
making this use of them, so. Sir, I have no fear of any mischief that 
they can do us. Afraid of them ! — What, Sir, sKall we^ who have 
laid the proud British lion at our feet, now be afraid of his 



130. SUPPOSED SPEECH OF JAMES OTIS.*— Jtfrs. i. Jlf. Child. 

England may as well dam up the waters of the Nile with bulrushou 
as fetter the step of Freedom, more proud and firm in this youthful 
land than where she treads the sequestered glens of Scotland, or 
couches herself among the magnificent mountains of Switzerland. 
Arbitrary principles, like those against which we now contend, have 
cost one King of England his life, — another, his crown, — and they 
may yet cost a third his most flourishing colonies. 

We are two millions, — one-fifth fighting men. We are bold and 
vigorous, — and we call no man master. To the Nation from whom 
we are proud to derive our origin we ever were, and we ever m\\ be, 
ready to yield unforced assistance ; but it must not, and it never can 
be, extorted. Some have sneeringly asked, " Are the Americans too 
poor to pay a few pounds on stamped paper ? " No ! America, thanks 
to God and herself, is rich. But the right to take ten pounds implies 
the right to take a thousand ; and what must be the wealth that avarice, 
aided by power, cannot exhaust ? True, the spectre is now small ; but thfl 
shadow he casts before him is huge enough to darken all this fair land 
Others, in sentimental style, talk of the immense debt of gratitude 
which we owe to England. And what is the amount of this debt < 
Why, truly, it is the same that the young lion owes to the dam, which 
bas brought it forth on the solitude of the mountain, or left it amid the 
winds and storms of the desert. 

V/e plunged into the wave, with the great charter of freedom iu out 

Horn, 1725 killed by a stroke of lightning, 1773. 



SEXATOUiA-L - L£E. 28& 

ieeili because the fagot and torch were behind ns. We have Avaked 
this new world from its savage lethargy ; forests have been prostrated 
in our path ; towns and cities have grown up suddenly as the flowera 
of the tropics, and the fires in our autunuial woods are scarcely more 
rapid than the increase wf our wealth and population. And do we owe 
all this to the kind succor of the mother country ? No ! we owe it to 
the tyranny that drove us from her, — to the pelting storms which 
inYigorated our helpless infancy. 

But perhaps others will say, " We ask no money from your grati- 
tude, — we only demand that you should pay your own expenses." 
And who, I pray, is to judge of their necessity ? Why, the King, — 
and, with all due reverence to his sacred majesty, he understands the 
real wants of his distant subjects as little as he does the language of the 
Chocta\vs ! Who is to judge concerning the freciuency of these 
demands? The l^linistry. Who is to judge whether the money is 
properly expended ? The Cabinet behind the Throne. In every ■ 
instance, those who take are to judge for those who pay. If this sys- 
tem is suffered to go into operation, we ^_.ill have reason to esteem it 
a great privilege that rain and dew do not depend upon Parliament ; 
otherwise, they would soon be taxed and dried. But, thanks to God, 
there is freedom enough left upon earth to resist such monstrous injus- 
tice ! The flame of liberty is extinguished in Greece and Home ; but 
the light of its glowing embers is still bright and strong on the shores 
of America. Actuated by its sacred influence, we will resist unto 
death. But we will not countenance anarchy and misrule. The 
wrongs that a desperate community have heaped upon their enemies 
shall be amply and speedily repaired. Still, it may be well for some 
proud men to remember, that a fire is lighted in these Colonies which 
one breath of their King may kindle into such fury that the blood of 
all England cannot extinguish it ! 



131. FOR INDEPENDENCE, ITiS. — Richard Henry Lee. Born, 1732; died, 1794. 

The time will certainly come when the fated separation between the 
mother country and these Colonies must take place, whether you will 
or no ; for so it is decreed by the very nature of things, — by the pro- 
gressive increase of oui' population, the fertility of our soil, the extent 
of our territory, the industry of our countrymen, and the immensity 
of the ocean which separates the. two countries. And, if this be true, — 
as ii is most true, — who does not see that the sooner it takes place, the 
better ; that it would be the height of folly, not to seize the present occa- 
sion, when British injustice has filled all hearts with indignation, inspired 
all minds with courage, united all opinions in one, and put arms in 
every hand ? And how long must we traverse three thousand miles 
of a stormy sea, to solicit of arrogant and insolent men either c'ounscls 
or commands to regulate our domestic affairs? Frcm what we have 
already achieved, it is easy to presume what we shall hereafter ac& w 



'.86 THE STANDARD SPEAKER 

pHsti. Expenence is the source of sage counsels, and liberty is the 
mother of great men. Have you not seen the enemy driven from 
Lexington by citizens armed and assembled in one day ? Already 
iheir most celebrated generals have yielded in Boston to the skill of 
ours. Already their seamen, repulsed from our coasts, wander over the 
ocean, the sport of tempests, and the prey of famine. Let us hail the 
favorable omen, and fight, not for the sake of knowing on what terms 
we ai'e to be the slaves of England, but to secure to ourselves a free 
existence, to found a just and independent Government. 

Why do we longer delay, — why still deliberate ? Let this most 
happy day give birth to the American Republic. Let her arise, not 
to devastate and conquer, but to reestablish the reign of peace and of 
the laws. The eyes of Europe are fixed upon us ; she demands of us 
a living example of freedom, that may contrast, by the felicity of the 
citizens, with the ever-increasing tyranny which desolates her polluted 
shores. She invites us to prepare an asylum where the unhappy may 
find solace, and the persecuted repose. She entreats us to cultivate a 
propitious soil, where that generous plant which first sprang up and 
grew in England, but is now withered by the poisonous blasts of Scot- 
tish tyranny, may revive and flourish, sheltering under its salubrious 
and interminable shade all the unfortunate of the human race. This 
is the end presaged by so many omens : — by our first victories ; by the 
present ardor and union ; by the flight of Howe, and the pestilence 
which broke out among Dunmore's people; by the very winds which 
baffled the enemy's fleets and transports, and that terrible tempest 
which engulfed seven hundred vessels upon the coasts of Newfound- 
land. If we are not this day wanting in our duty to country, the 
names of the American Legislators will be placed, by posterity, at the 
side of those of Theseus, of Lycurgus, of Romulus, of Numa, of the 
three Williams of Nassau, and of all those whose mem.ory has been, 
and will be, forever dear to Virtuous men and good citizens ! 



132. THE FEDERAL CONSTITUTION, 1787.— Ben/amm Fm«A/m. Born, ItOS; died, 1700, 

The following is strongly marked by the leading traits of Franklin's character, — his liberality, 
ractical wisdom, and spirit of compromise. 

Sir, I agree to this Constitution, with all its faults, — if they are 
such, — because I think a general Grovernment necessary for us, and 
there is no form of Government but what may be a blessing to tho 
People, if well administered ; and I believe, farther, that this is likely 
to be well administered for a course of years, and can only end in 
despotism, as other forms have done before it, when the People shall 
become so corrupted as to need despotic Government, being incapable 
of any other. I doubt, too, whether any other convention we can 
obtain may be able to make a better Constitution. For, when you 
assemble a number of men, to have the advantage of their joint wis- 
dom, you inevitably assemble with those men al] their prejudices, their 
(;-assi'"cs, their errors of opinion, their local in* '-rests, and their selfiah 



SKNATOaiAL. — VR.VNKLIN 281 

Views. l*'rom »uch an assembly can a perfect produc{;if.n be expected ' 
ft, therefore, astonislies me, Sir, to find this system approaching so 
noar to perfection as it does ; and I think it will astonish our enemies, 
trhc are waiting with confidence to hear that our counsels are con- 
tbunled, like tnose ol' the builders of Babel, and that our States are on 
the point of separation, only to meet hereafter for the purpose of cut- 
ting one another's throats. 

Thus I consent, Sir, to this Constitution, because I expect no better, 
and because I am not sure that this is not the best. The opinions 1 
have had of its errors I sacrifice to the jtublic good. I have nevei 
ivhispered a syllable of them abroad. Within these walls they were 
born, and here they shall die. [f every one of us, in returning to his 
constituents, were to report the oojections he has had to it, and endeavor 
to gain partisans in support of them, we might prevent its being gener- 
ally received, and thereby lose all the salutary effects and great advan- 
tages resulting naturally in our favor among foreign Nations, as well 
as among ourselves, from our real or apparent unanimity. Much of 
the strength and efficacy of any Government, in procuring and secur- 
ing happiness to the People, depends on opinion, — on the general opin- 
ion of the goodness of that Government, as well as of the wisdom and 
integrity of its Governors. I hope, therefore, that, for our own sakes, 
as a part of the People, and for the sake of our posterity, we shall act 
lieartily and unanimously in recommending this Constitution, wherever 
our influence may extend, and turn our future thoughts and endeavors 
to the means of having it well administered. 



133. GOD GOVERNS. — BeryoOTm Franklin, 1T87, in Convention. 

In this situation of this Assembly, — groping, as it were, in the dark, 
to find political truth, and scarce able to distinguish it when presented 
to us, — how has it happened. Sir, that we have not hitherto once 
thought of humbly applying to the Father of Light to illuminate our 
understanding ? In the beginning of the contest with Britain, when 
we were sensible of danger, we had daily prayers in this room for the 
divine protection. Our prayers. Sir, were heard, — and they were 
graciously answered. All of us who were engaged in the struggle 
must have observed frequent instances of a superintending Providence 
in our flivor. To that kind Providence we owe this happy opportu- 
nity of coasulting in peace on the means of establishing our future 
national felicity. And have we now forgotten that powerful Friend ? 
or do we imagine we no longer need His assistance ? I have lived, 
Sir, a long time ; and the longer I live, the more convincing proofs I 
iee of this truth, — that God governs in the affairs of men. And, 
if a sparrow cannot fiill to the groand without His notice, is it proba^ 
ble that an empire can rise without His aid ? We have been assured. 
Sir in the Sacred AVritings, that "except the Lord build the house, 
they labor in vain that build it." I firmly believe this ; and I alse 
believe that, without His concurring aid, we shall saweed in this poJit- 



ZQQ IHE STANDAP-O SPLAKJSR. 

ical buililing no better than the builders of Babel , we shall be di>idei 
by our little, partial, local interests ; our projects will be confounded 
and we ourselves shall become a reproach and a by-word down to future 
ages. And, what is worse, mankind may hereafter, from this unfor 
tunate instance, despair of establishing Government by human wisdom, 
and leave it to chance, war, and conquest ' 



134. IN FAVOR OF A DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. — Surpnsed Speech of 
John Adams, in the Continental Congress, July, T776. 

Th3 subjoined two extracts are from "A Discourse in commemoration of the Lives and Services 
jf John Adams and Thomas Jefferson, by Daniel Webster, delivered! in Faneuil Hall, Boston, 
August 2, 1826." The sentiment and spirit of this "supposed" speech appear to be partially 
taken from a letter which John Adams wrote to a friend, the day after the Declaration, and ii' 
which he said : " Yi^sterday the greatest question was decided that was ever debated in Amer- 
ica; and greater, perhajis, never was or will be decided by men. A resolution was jiassed, with 
out one dissenting colony, ' that these United States are, and of right ought to be, free and inde 
pendent States.' The day is passed. The Fourth of July, 1776, will be a memorable epooha in 
the history of America. I am apt to believe it will be celebrated, by succeeding generations, as 
the great anniversary festival. It ought to be commemorated as the day of deliverance, by 
solemn acts of devotion to Almighty God. It ought to be solemnized with pomp, shows, games, 
sports, guns, bells, bonfires, and illuminations, from one end of the continent to the other, from 
this time forward, forever. You will think me transported with enthusiasm, but I am not. ] 
am well aware of the toil, and olood, and treasui-e, that it will cost to maintain this declaration. 
anil support and defend these States ; yet, through all tlie gloom, I can see the rays of light and 
glory. I can see that the end is worth more than all the means ; and that posterity will triumph, 
although you and I may rue, — which, I hope, we shall not." 

By a felicitous coincidence, Adams and Jefferson died on the 4th of July, 1826, the anniver- 
3Hry of the occasion which they had done so much to render memorable. 

Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give my hand and 
my heart to this vote ! It is true, indeed, that, in the beginning, we 
aimed not at independence. But there is a Divinity which shapes our 
ends. The injustice of England has driven us to arms ; and, blinded 
to her own interest for our good, she has obstinately persisted, till 
independence is now within our grasp. We have but to reach forth 
to it, and it is ours. Why, then, should we defer the Declaration < 
Is any man so weak as now to hope for a reconciliation with England, 
which shall leave either safety to the country and its liberties, ci 
safety to his own life, and his own honor ? Are not you, Sir, who sit 
in that chair, — is not he, our venerable colleague near you, — are not 
both already the proscribed and predestined objects of punishment and 
of vengeance ? Cut off from all hope of royal clemency, what are 
you, what can you be, while the power of England remains, but out- 
laws ? 

If we postpone independence, do we mean to carry on, or give up, 
he war ? Do we mean to submit to the measures of ] 'arliament, 
Boston port-bill v>cd all ? Do we mean to submit, and consent that 
we ourselves shall b.3 ground to powder, and our country and its rights 
trodden down in the dust ? I know we do not mean to submit. We 
never shall submit. Do we intend to violate that most solemn obliga- 
tioE ever enteicd into by men, — that plighting, berore God, of oui 
"sacred honor to Washington, when, putting him forth to incur the 
dingers of war. as well as the political hazards of the times, we proui' 



SENATORIAL. -JOHN Al)AMj<. -i»ij 

ised tc adnorc tc hira, in every extremity, with our fortu'ies and onr 
lives ? 

X know there is not a man here who would not rather see a general 
conflagration sweep over the land, or an earthquake sink it, tlian one 
jot or tittle of that plighted faith fidl to the ground. For myself, 
having, twelve months ago, in this place, moved you that George 
Washington be appointed commander of the forces raised, cr to he 
raised, for defence of American liberty, may my right hand forget its 
cunning, and my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, if I hesitate 
or waver in the support I give him ' The war, then, must go on. We 
Aiust fight it through. 

And. if the war must go on, why put oif longer the Declaration of 
Independence ? That measure will strengthen us. It will give us 
character abroad. The Nations will then treat wnth us, whicli they 
never can do while we acknowledge ourselves subjects in arms against 
our sovereign. Nay, I maintain that p]ngland herself will sooner treat 
for peace with us on the footing of independtjnce, than consent, by 
repealing her acts, to acknowledge that her whole conduct towards us 
has been a course of injustice and oppression. Her pride will be less 
wounded by submitting to that course of things which now predesti- 
nates our independence, than by yielding the points in controversy to 
her rebellious subjects. The former she would regard as the result of 
fortune ; the latter, she would feel as her own deep disgrace. Why 
then. Sir, do we not, as soon as possible, change this from a civil to ^ 
national war ? And, since we must fight it through, why not put oiir 
selves in a state to enjoy all the benefits of victory, if we gain the vie 
tory ? If we fail, it can be no worse for us. But we shall not faD 



135. CONCLUSION OF THE PKECEDING. 

TuE cause will raise up armies ; — the cause will create naviisr 
ITie people, — the people, — if we are true to them, will carry tib 
and will carry themselves, gloriously through this struggle. I C83-! 
not how fickle other people have been found. I know the people o 
these colonies; and I know that resistance to British aggression is dsci 
and settled in their hearts, and cannot be eradicated. Every colouj' 
indeed, has expressed its willingness to follow, if we but take the leaA 
Sir, the. Declaration will inspire the people with increased <;our2>t. 
Instead of a long and bloody war for restoration of privileges, \bi 
redie^s of grievances, for chartered inununities, held under a Br**iai* 
iing, set before them the glerious object of entire independence rmC it 
will breathe into them anew the breath of life. Read this DLcLflffatioij 
at the head of the army ; — every sword will be drawn from ite 3Cab 
hard, and the solemn vow uttered, to maintain it, or to perish on the 
bed of honor. Publish it from the Pulpit ; — religion will approvs it, 
and the love of religious liberty will cling round it, resolved to stand 
with it, or i'nV, with it. Send it to tiie public halls; proclaiir it there; 
let them hear it who heard the first roar of the enemy's mn on, — iet 
19 



290 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

them see it who saw their brothers and their sons fall on the fiekl of 
banker Hill, and in the streets of Lexington and Concord, — and the 
very walls will cry out in its support ! 

Sir, I know the uncertainty of human affairs ; but I see clearlj 
through this day's business. You and I, indeed, may rue it. Wc 
may not live to see the time when this Declaration shall be made good. 
We may die, — die colonists ; die slaves ; die, it may be, ignominiously 
and on the scaifold ! Be it so ! be it so ! If it be the pleasure of 
Heaven that my country shall require the poor offering of my life, th« 
victim shall be ready at the appointed hour of sacrifice, come when 
that hour may. But, while I do live, let me have a country, — or, at 
least, the hope of a country, and that a free country. 

But, whatever may be our fate, be assured that this Declaration 
will stand. It may cost treasure, and it may cost blood ; but it will 
stand, and it will richly compensate for both. Through the thick 
gloom of the present, I see the brightness of the future, as the sun in 
Heaven. We shall make this a glorious, an immortal day. When we 
are in our graves, our children will honor it. They will celebrate it 
with thanksgiving, with festivity, with bonfires, and illuminations. 
On its annual return, they will shed tears, — copious, gushing tears, 
— not of subjection and slavery, not of agony and distress, — but of 
exultation, of gratitude, and of joy. Sir, before God, I believe the 
hour is come ! My judgment approves this measure, and my whole 
heart is in it. All that I have, and all that I am, and all that I hope, 
in this life, I am now ready here to stake upon it; and I leave off, as 
I began, that, live or die, survive or perish, I am for the Declaration ' 
It is my living sentiment, and, by the blessing of God, it shall be my 
dying sentiment, — Independence noiv, and Independence forever ! 



136. THE general GOVERNMENT AND THE iStKy-ES,. — Alexander Hamilton. 

Alexander Hamilton was boi-n in Nevis, one of the West India Islands, in 1757. After soms 
■military exijerience, he entered upon the study of the law, and rose to great eminence in the 
councils of the Nation.- With Madison and .lay, he wrote the "Federalist," and labored strt,n- 
uously in liehalf of the Constitution, lie was the first Secretary of the Treasury of the United 
States. He was shot by Aaron Burr, in a duel, in 180-t. The two foUowinjr speeches were deliv- 
sred in the Convent'on of New Yorli, on the adoption of the Constitution, 1788. 

Mr. Chairman, it has been advanced as a principle, that no Gov- 
ernment but a Despotism can exist in a very extensive country. This 
IS a melancholy consideration, indeed. If it were founded on truth, 
(vc ought to dismiss the idea of a Republican Government, even foi 
the State of New York. But the position has been misapprehended, 
■Its application relates only to democracies, where the body of the PeO' 
plo caeet to transact business, and where representation is unknown 
The application is wrong in respect to all representative Governments , 
but especially in relation to a Confederacy of States, in which the 
Supreme Legislature has only general powers, and the civil and domes- 
tic concerns of the People are regulated by the laws of the severa] 
States. I insist that it never can be the interest or desire of the 
-aationaJ Legislature to destroy the State Governments. The blow 



SENATORi AL. HAMILTOJI. 29l 

timei at the members must give a fatal wound to the hesici , and the 
destruction of the States must be at once a political suicide. But 
imagine, for a moment, that a political frenzy should seize the Govero- 
mant ; suppose they should make the attempt. Certainly, Sir, it 
would be forever impracticable. This has l^een sufiBciently denicn- 
strated by reason and experience. It has been proved that the mem- 
bers of Republics have been, and ever will be, stronger than the haad. 
Let us attend to one general historical example. 

In the ancient feudal Governments of Europe, there were, in the 
first place, a Monarch ; subordinate to him, a body of Nobles ; and 
subject to these, the vassals, or the whole body of the People. The 
authority of the Kings was limited, and that of the Barons considera- 
bly independent. The histories of the feudal wars exhibit little more 
than a series of successful encroachments on the prerogatives of ]\Ion- 
archy. 

Here, Sir, is one great proof of the superiority which the memliers 
in limited Governments possess over their head. As long as the 
Barons enjoyed the confidence and attachment of the People, they liud 
the sti-ength of the country on their side, and were irresistible. I may 
be told in some instances the Barons were overcome ; but how did this 
happen ? Sir, they took advantage of the depression of the royal 
authority, and the establishment of their own power, to oppress and 
tyrannize over their vassals. As commerce enlarged, and wealth and 
civilization increased, the People began to feel their own weight and 
consequence ; they grew tired of their oppressions ; united their 
strength with that of their Prince, and threw off the yoke of Aris- 
tocracy. These very instances prove what I contend for. They prove 
that in whatever direction the popular weight leans, the current of 
power will flow ; whatever the popular attachments be, there will rest 
the political superiority. Sir, can it be supposed that the State Gov- 
ernments will become the oppressors of the People ? Will they forfeit 
their affections ? Will they combine to destroy the liberties and hap- 
piness of their fellow-citizens, for the sole purpose of involving them- 
selves in ruin ? God forbid ! The idea. Sir, is shocking ! It outrages 
every feeling of humanity, and every dictate of common sense ! 



137. CONSTITUTION OF THE UNITED STATES. —Alexander Hamilton. 

After all our doubts, our suspicions and speculations, on the sub 
joct of Government, we must return, at last, to this important truth, 
— that, when we have formed a Constitution upon free principles, 
when we have given a proper balance to the different branches of 
Administration, and fixed Representation upon pure and equal princi 
pies, we may, with safety, furnish it with all the j)0wers necessary V' 
answfir, in the most ample manner, the puri)Oses of Government. The 
great desiderata are a free Representation, and mutual checks. When 
Hiese are obtained, all our apprehensions of the extent of powers are 
•injust ind imaginai.y. What, then, is the structure of this Ooustitu- 



292 



THE STj^NDAKD speaker. 



sion ? (_>ne branch of the Legislature is to be eieoted by the Feoplt. 
— by the Sixme People wno choose your State Representatives. \U 
aicmbers ai 3 to hold their ofEce two years, and then return to thoii' 
£onstituents. Here, Sir, the People govern. Here they act by theif 
immediate Representatives. You have also a Senate, constituted bj 
your State Legislatures, — by men in whom you place the highest co!> 
fidence, — and forming another Representative branch. Then, again, 
you have an Executive Magistrate, created by a form of election which 
merits universal admiration. 

In the form of this Government, and in the mode of Legislation, 
you find all the checks which the greatest politicians and the best 
writers have ever conceived. What more can reasonable men desire ? 
Is ihere any one branch in which the whole Legislative and Executive 
poTs'ers are lodged ? No ! The Legislative authority is lodged in 
ihroe distinct branches, propei'ly balanced ; the Executive authority is 
divided between two branches ; and the Judicial is still reserved for ai^ 
independent body, who hold their office during good behavior. This 
organization is so complex, so skilfully contriveil, that it is next to 
impossible that an impolitic or wicked measure should pass the great 
scrutiny with success. Now, what do Gentlemen mean, by coming for- 
ward and declaiming against this Government ? Why do they say we 
ought to limit its powers, to disable it, and to destroy its capacity of 
blessing the People ? Has philosophy suggested, has experience 
taught, that such a Government ought not to be trusted with every- 
thing necessary for the good of society ? Sir, when you have divided 
and nicely balanced the departments of Government ; when you have 
strongly connected the virtue of your rulers with their interests ; when, 
in short, you have rendered your system as perfect as human forms can 
be, — you must place confidence ; you must give power. 



138. AmSTOOn.AGY,!'!^.— Robert R. Livingston. Born, 1748; died, 1813. 

The gentleman, who has so copiously declaimed against all declama 
tion, has pointed his artillery against the rich and great. We are told 
that, in every country, there is a natural Aristocracy, and that this 
Aristocracy consists of the rich and the great. Nay, the gentleman 
goes further, and ranks in this class of men the wise, the learned, and 
those eminent for their talents or great virtues. Does a man possess 
the confidence of his fellow-citizens, for having done them important 
services ? He is an Aristocrat ! Has he great integrity ? He is an 
Aristocrat ! Indeed, to determine that one is an Aristocrat, we need 
only to be assured that he is a man of merit. But I hope we have 
many such. So sensible am I of that gentleman's talents, integrity, 
and virtue, that we might at once hail him the first of the Nobles, the 
very Prince of the Senate I 

But whom, in the name of common sense, would the gentlemac 
ftave to represent us ^ Not the rich, for they are sheer Aristoi^rats 



SENATORIAL. KANDOLl'H. Vi99 

rTot the learned, the wise, the virtuous ; for they are all Aristocrats 
V/hom then ? Why, those who are not virtuous ; those who are not 
mse ; those who are not learned ; — these are the men to whom alone 
ive can trust our liberties ! He says, further, we ought not to choose 
Aristocrats, becjiuse the People will not have confidence in them . 
rhat is to say, the People will not have confidence in those who host 
deserve and most possess their eontidcnee ! He would have his (}ov- 
ernment composed of other classes of men. Where will he find them * 
Why, he must go forth into the highways, and pick up the rogut and 
the robber. He must go to the hedges and the ditches, and bring in 
the poor, the blind, and the lame. As the gentleman has thus settled 
the definition of Aristocracy, I trust that no man will think it a term 
of reproach ; for who, among us, would not be wise ? who would no* 
be virtuous ? who would not be above want ? The truth is, in these 
Repuiilican Governments, we know no such ideal distinctions. We 
are all equally Aristocrats. Offices, emoluments, honors, the roads to 
preferment and to wejilth, are alike open to all. 



139. EXTENT OP COUNTRY NO BAR TO UNION. - Edmund Randolph. Died, 1813. 
In ihe Virginia Convention on the Federal Constitution, 1788. 

Extent of country, in my conception, ought to be no bar to the 
adoption of a good Government. No extent on earth seems to me too 
gi-eat, provided the laws be wisely made and executed. The principles 
of representation and responsibility may pervade a large, as well as a 
small territory ; and tyranny is as easily introduced into a small as 
into a large district. Union, Mr. Chairman, is the rock of our sal- 
vation. Our safety, our political happiness, our existence depend on 
the Union of these States. Without Union, the People of this and the 
other States will undergo the unspeakable calamities which discord, 
faction, turbulence, war and bloodshed, have continually produced in 
other countries. Without Union, we throw away all those blessings 
for which we have so earnestly fought. Without Union, there is no 
peace, 'Sir, in the land. 

The American spirit ought to be mixed with American pride, — 
pride to see the Union magnificently triumph. Let that glorious pride 
which once defied the British thunder reiinimate you again. Let it 
not be recorded of Americans, that, after having performed the mcst 
gallant exploits, after having overcome the most astonishing diffi- 
culties, and after having gained the admiration of the world by 
their incomparable valor and policy, they lost their acquired repu- 
tation, lost their national consequence and happiness, by their 
»wn indiscretion. Let no future historian inform posterity that 
\mericans wanted wisdom and virtue to concur in any regular, effi- 
iient Government. Catch the present moment. Seize it with 
cvidity. It may be lost, never to be regained • an 1 if the Union be 
bst now, I fear it will remain so forever 



^94 THE 2VANDARD SPEAKEK. 

m MRANCE ANT) THE UNITED STAT-ES.— George JVa,^hington. B. 113 d. A6S 

Eeply, as President of the United States, January 1st, 1796, to the addrets of the Minist<s 
Plenipotentiary of the French Kepublic, on his presenting the colors of France to the UnitfiC 
^tes. 

EoRN, Sir, in a iaiiJ of liberty ; liaving early learned its value 
a'lving engaged in a perilous conflict to defend it ; liaving, i'a a word, 
devoted the best years of my life to secure its permanent establishment 
m my own country, — my anxious recollections, my sympathetic feel- 
ings, and my best wishes, are irresistibly excited, whensoever, in any 
country, I see an oppressed Nation unfurl the banners of freedom. 
But, above all, the events of the French Revolution have produced the 
deepest solicitude, as well as the highest admiration. To call your 
Na\,;on brave, were to pronounce but connnon praise. Wonderful 
People ! Ages to come will read with astonishment the history of 
youi" brilliant exploits ! I rejoice that the period of your toils and of 
your inmiense sacrifices is approaching. I rejoice that the interesting 
) evolutionary movements of so many years have issued in the fbrma- 
Cioa of a Constitution designed to give permanency to the great objeci 
for which you have contended. I rejoice that liberty, which you have 
so long embraced witli enohasiasm, — liberty, of which you have been 
the invincible defenders, — now finds an asylum in the bosom of a regu- 
larly organized Government; — a Government, which, being formed 
to secure the happiness of the French People, corresponds with the 
ardent wishes of my heart, while it gratifies the pride of every citizen 
of the United States, by its resemblance to his own. On these 
glorious events, accept. Sir, my sincere congratulations. 

Jn delivering to you these sentiments, I express not my own feel- 
ings ^nly, but those of my fellow-citizens, in relation to the commence- 
Dient. *he progress, ai.d the issue, of the French Revolution ; and 
ihey will cvvdially join with me in purest wishes to the Supreme 
Being, tha' the citizens of our sister Republic, our magnanimous 
allies, niay scon enjoy in peace that liberty which they have pur- 
chased at so ffv^&t a price, and all the happiness which liberty can 
bestow. 

I receive, hi'-, with lively sensibility, the symbol of the triumphs 
and of the eufranchisoment of your Nation, the colors of France, 
which you have .low presented to the United States. The transaction 
will be announcea to ( jonsir'^ss • and the colors will be deposited with 
those archives of the United S^-ates which are at once the evidence? 
and the memorials of tneir freedom and independence. May these be 
perpetual ! And may the friendship of the two Republics be coiii' 
mensurate with their existence ; 



Ul. AGAINST FOREIGN ENTANGJEa.'^MS, 179S. — George W'osfeiwg-t'jn. 

Against the insidious wiles of foiv-gr iF%«i»^e ^I oop^ur'^ yon to 
believe me, fellow-citizens) the jealousy ot ?. free People ov^'' *« bo 
•origtanthj awaks; since history and e^penshi'-e Dj.-av«w tna* '■•*ip 



\ 



CEXATOUIAL. — AMES. 2i*^ 

tnfluenee i« one of the most baneful foes of Republican Governmenu 
Ijut that jealousy, to be useful, niiLSt be impartial ; else it becomes the 
instranieiit of the very influence to be avolJed, instoad of a defence 
ugainst it. Excessive partiality for one Nation, and excessive dislike 
for another, caase those whom they actuate to see danger only on one 
gide, and serve to veil, and even second, the arts of influence on tht 
other. Real patriots, who may resist the intrigues of the tiivoritO; arc 
liable to become suspected and odious ; while its tools and dupes usurp 
the applause and confidence of the People, to surrender their 
interests. The great rule of conduct for us, in regard to foreign 
Nations, is, in extending our commercial relations, to have with them 
as little jx)litieal connection as possible. So far as we have tdready 
formed engagements, let them be fulfilled with perfect good fiiith. 
Here let us stop. 

Europe has a set of primary interests, which to us have none, or a 
very remote relation. Hence, she must be engaged in frequent con- 
troversies, the causes of which are essentially foreign to our concerns. 
Hence, therefore, it must be jinwise in us to implicate ourselves by 
artificial ties in the ordinary vicissitudes of her politics, or the ordi- 
nary combinations and collisions of her friendships or enmities. Our 
detatched and distant situation invites and enables us to pursue a 
different course. If we remain one People, under an efficient Govern- 
ment, the period is not far off when we may defy material injury from 
external annoyance ; when we may take such an attitude as will 
cause the neutrality we may at any time resolve upon to be scrupu- 
lously resjjected ; when belligerent Nations, under the impossibility of 
making acquisitions upon us, will not lightly hazard the giving us 
provocation ; when we may choose peace or war, as our interest, guided 
by justice, shall counsel. Why forego the advantages of so peculiar a 
situation ? Why quit our own to stand on foreign ground ? Why, 
by interweaving our destiny with that of any part of Europe, entangle 
our peace and prosperity in the toils of European ambition, rivalship, 
interest, humor or caprice ? 



142. SANCTITY OF TREATIES, 1196. — Fisber Ames. 

Fishev Ames, one of the most eloquent of American Statesmen and writers, was, born in 
■>edbam, Massacliusetts, 1758, and died July 4, 1808. He was a member of Congress during 
Jie eife'ht years of Washington's administration, of which he was the earnest and able champion. 

We are either to execute this treaty, or break our faith To expa- 
tiate on the value of public faith may pass with some men for decla- 
mation : to such men I have nothing to say. To others, I will urge, 
can any circumstance mark upon a People more turpitude and 
debasement ? Can anything tend more to make men think themselves 
mean, — or to degrade to a lower point their estimation of virtue, and 
their standard of action ? It would not merely demoralize mankind 
It tends to break all the ligaments of society ; to dissolve that .ny* 
terious charm which attracts individuals to tho Nation; and to inspire 
in its stead, a repulsive sense of shame and disgust. 



i9Q THE STAMjaRD SPEAKEK. 

Waat IS [)atri nism ? Is it a nan-ow affection for the spot wKore t 
njan was b)rn V x\ro the very clods where we tread e ititied to tbig 
ardent preference, because they are greener? No, Sir; this is not the 
snaracter of the virtue. It soars higher for its object. It is an 
axiended self-love, mingling with all the enjoyments of life, and 
twisting itself with the minutest filaments of the heart. It is thu-- 
we obey the laws of society, because they are the laws of virtue, la 
their authority we see, not the array of force and terror, but the 
yenerable image of our country's honor. Every good citizen makes 
that honor his own, and cherishes it, not only as precious, but as 
sacred. He is willing to risk his life in its defence, and is conscious 
that he gains protection while he gives it ; for what rights of a citizen 
will be deemed inviolable, when a State renounces the principles that 
constitute their security ? Or, if his life should not be invaded, what 
would its enjoyments be, in a country odious in the eye of strangers, 
and dishonored in his own ? Could he look with affection and venera- 
tion to such a country, as his parent? The .sense of having one 
would die within him : he would blush for his patriotism, if he 
retained any, — and justly, for it woula be a vice. He would be a 
banished man in his native land. I see no exception to the respect 
that is paid among Nations to the law of good faith. It is the philos- 
ophy of politics, the religion of Governments. It is observed by 
barbarians. A whiff of tobacco-smoke, or a string of beads, gives 
not merely binding force, but sanctity, to treaties. Even in Algiers, 
a truce may be bought for money ; but, when ratified, even Algiers is 
tjo wise, or too just, to disown and annul its obligation. 



143. THE BRITISH TREATY.lldo. — Fisher Ames 

Are the posts of our frontier to remain forever in the possession of 
Grreat Britain ? Let those who reject them, when the treaty offers 
them to our hands, say, if they choose *iiey are of no importance. 
Will the tendency to Indian hostilities iDe contested by any one 1 
Experience gives the answer. Am I reduced to the necessity of 
proving this point ? Certainly the very men who charged the Indian 
war cgi the detention of the po.sts will call for no other proof than the 
recital of their own speeches. " Until the posts are restored," they 
exclaimed, " the treasury and the frontiers must bleed." Can Gentle- 
men now say that an Indian peace, without the posts, will prove firm ? 
No, Sir, it will not be peace, but a sword ; it will be no better than a 
lure to draw victims within the reach of the tomahawk. 

On this theme, my emotions are unutterable. If I could find words 
for them, if my powers bore any proportion to my zeal, I would swel. 
my voice to such a note of remonstrance, it should reach every log- 
house beyond the mountains. I would say to the inhabitants. Wake 
from your fixlse security ' Your cruel dangers, your more crue. 
ippr^hensr sns, are soon to oe renewed. The wounds, yet unhealed^ 



SENATCRiAL. JEFFERSOM. 29'} 

.re io he torn open ag-aln. In the day-time, your path through the 
roods wiU be ambushed. The darkness of midnight will glitter with 
the blaze of your dwellings. You are a* father, — the blood of youi 
fcons shall fatten your corn-fields ! You are a mother, — the war 
whoop shall wake the sleep of the cradle ! 

Who will say that I exaggerate the tendencies of our measuiee? 
Will any one answer, by a sneer, that all this is idle preaching ? Will 
any one deny that we are bound, and, I would hope, to good purpose. 
by the raost solemn sanctions of duty, for the vote we give ? Are 
despots alone to be reproached for unfeeling indifference to the tears 
and blood of their subjects ? Are republicans irresponsible ? Can 
you put the dearest interest of society at risk, without guilt, and 
without remorse ? It is vain to offer, as an excuse, that public men 
are not to be reproached for the evils that may happen to ensue from 
their measures. This is very true, where they are unforeseen or 
inevitable. Those I have depicted are not unforeseen ; they are so 
far from inevitable, we are going to bring them into being by our 
vote. We choose the consequences, and become as justly answerable 
for them as for the measure that we know will produce them. 

By rejecting the posts, we light the savage fires, we bind the vic- 
tims. This day we undertake to render account to the widows and 
orphans whom our decision will make ; — to the wretches that will 
be roa.«tcd at the stake ; to our country, and, I do not deem it too 
serious to say, to conscience and to God, we are answerable ; and, if 
duty b« anything more than a word of imposture, if conscience be not 
a bugi'tear, we are prepaiing to make ourselves as wretched as our 
country. There is no mistake in this case. There can be none. 
Expen«u<!e has already been the prophet of events, and the cries of 
3ur fuk.iuy victims have already reached us. The Western inhabitants 
ire not u silent and uncomplaining sacrifice. The voice of humanity 
itssues fiom the shade of the wilderness. It exclaims, that, while one 
hand is ueld up to reject this treaty, the other grasps a tomahawk. 
It sumi»«ons our imagination to the scenes that will open. It is no 
great eiiurt of the imagination to conceive that events so near are 
direaay uegun. I can fancy that I listen to the yells of savage 
vrengeauce, and the shrieks of torture ! Already they seem to sigh in 
tiie \7o6tern wind ! Already they mingle with every echo from tht; 
I'icuntaiiis ! 



\*4 A Kbi'UBLIC THE STRONGEST GOVERNMENT. — T. Jeferson. B. 1"43 ; d. 1826. 
Fi'om hi3 Inaugural Address, as President of the United States, JIarch 4, 1801. 

During the throes and convulsions of the ancient world, — during 
*.he agonizing spasms of infuriated man, seeking, through blood and 
fiidughter, his long-lost liberty, — it was not wonderful that the agitation 
>/ the billows should reach even this distant and pcai-otul shore, — 
that this should be more felt and feared by some, and le.>s by others, — 
kid should dividp. opinions as to measures of gafety. But everj 



JJ98 THE STANDARD SPE^JJER. 

difference of opinion is not a difference of principle We hare ^ Jled 
by different names brethren of the same principle. We are ali E« 
publicans : we are all Federalists. If there be any among us wht 
would wish to dissolve this Union, or to change its republican form, 
let them stand, undisturbed, as monuments of the safety with whiel 
error of opinion may be tolerated, where reason is left free to combat 
it. I know, indeed, that some honest men fear a republican Govern- 
ment cannot be strong, — that this Government is not strong enough. 
But would the honest patriot, in the fiill tide of successful experiment, 
abandon a Government which has so fkr kept us free and firm, on thfc 
theoretic and visionary fear that this Government, the world's best 
hope, may, by possibility, want energy to preserve itself? I trust 
not. I believe this, on the contrary, the strongest Government on 
earth. I believe it the only one where every man, at the call 
of the law, would fly to the standard of the law, and would meet 
invasions of the public order, as his own personal concern. Some- 
times it is said that man carmot be trusted with the government of 
himself Can he, then, be trusted with the government of others ? Or 
have we found angels, in the form of Kings, to govern him ? Let 
history answer this question. 

Let us, then, with courage and confidence, pursue our own Federal 
and Republican principles — our attachment to Union and represent- 
ative Government. K'ndly separated,, by nature and a wide ocean, 
from the exterminating havoc of one quarter of the globe, — too high- 
minded to endure the degradations of the others, — possessing a chosen 
country, with room enough for our descendants to the thousandth and 
thousandth generation, — entertaining a due sense of our equal right 
to the use of our own fiiculties, to the acquisitions of our own 
industry, to honor and confidence from our fellow-citizens, result- 
ing not from birth, but from our actions, and their sense of them, — 
enlightened by a benign religion, professed, indeed, and practised in 
various forms, yet all of them inculcating honesty, truth, temperance, 
gratitude, and the love of man, — acknowledging and adoring an 
overruling Providence, which, by all its dispensations, proves that i1 
delights in the happiness of man here, and his greater happiness here- 
after : with all these blessings, what more is necessary, to make us a 
happy and prosperous People ? 

Still one thing more, fellow-citizens : a wise and frugal Govern- 
ment, which" shall restrain men from injuring one another, shall leave 
them otherwise free to regulate their own pursuits of industry and 
improvement, and shall not take from the mouth of labor the bread 
it has earned. This is the sum of good government; and this i» 
necessary to close the circle of our felicities. 



145 JUDGES SHOULD BE FREE, 1802. Tames A. Bayard. Born, 1767 : d/ed, 18l» 

Let it be remembered that no power is so sen3ii)ly felt by society 
ts *-hat of the Judiciary. The life and property of every man ia 



SENATORIAL. M0KUI3. 298 

.lable to be m Ihe hands of the Judges. Is it no; Mir grea ihtfiros^ 
lo place our Judges upon such high ground tliat no fear can intimi 
Aate, no hope seduce them ? The present measure humbles them in 
the dust It prostrates them at the feet of faction. It renders them 
the tool of ev(!ry dominant party. It is this effect which I deprecate. 
It is tliis consequence which I dee])ly deplore, ^\'hat does reason, 
what docs argument avail, when party spirit presides ? Subject your 
Bench to the influence of this spirit, and justice bids a final adieu to 
your tribunals. We are asked, Sir, if the Judges are to be inde- 
pendent of the People ? The question presents a false and delusive 
view. We are all the People. We are, and as long as we enjfty our 
freedom, we shall be, di\adcd into parties. The true question is. 
Shall the Judiciary be permanent, or fluctuate with the tide of public 
opinion ? I beg, I imploi-e gentlemen to consider the magnitude and 
value of the principle which they are about to annihilate. If your 
Judges are independent of political changes, they may have their 
preferences, but they will not enter into the spii'it of party. But, let 
their existence depend upon the support of a certain set of men, anc 
they cannot be impartial. Justice will be trodden under foot. You 
Courts will lose all public confidence and respect. 

We are standing on the brink of that revolutionary torrent whicl 
deluged in blood one of the faii'est countries in Europe. France had 
iier National Assembly, more numerous and. equally popular with our 
jwn. She had her tribunals of justice, and her juries. But the 
Legislature and her Courts were but the instruments of her destruc- 
tion. Acts of proscription, and sentences of banishment and death, 
were passed in the Cabinet of a tyrant. Prostrate your Judges at 
the feet of party, and you break down the mounds which defend you 
from this torrent ! Are gentlemen disposed to risk the consequences ' 



146. ON THE JUDICIARY ACT, 1802. — GouverneuT Morris. 

Gouverneur Morris, born at Morrisimiu, New York, .liiiiuary 31st, 1752, died November 6tb, 
1818. He w;i.s a Delefrate to the Cmitiiu.Mitiil Con:_n-«?ss rn.m New York, and subseciueiitly re,> 
resented that State in tlie Senate of tlie L'liitrd Staf.s, tief .re uiiicli bmly the lollowins si)eeche3 
were delivered, lie was, for some time, iniiiislir IVi'in tin- rnit'-d States to Finance, and doi'ing 
his residence in Euro])e formed tlie aei|iiaiiitHnce of many historical pers<jnayes, concerninsf 
Whom he has fjiven interestiu;,' facts, in his published diary and letters. 

What will be the situation of these States, organized as they now 
are. if, by the dissolution of our national comyjact, they be left to 
themselves ? What is the probable result ? We shall either be tho 
victims of foreign intrigue, and, split into factions, fall under the 
domination of a foreign power, or else, after the misery and torment 
of a civil war, become the subjects of an usurping military despot. 
What but this compact, what but this specific part of it, can save us 
from ruin ? The judicial power, that fortress of the Constitution, is 
Qow to be overturned. With honest Ajax, I would not only throw a 
shield before it, — I would build around it a wall of brass. But 1 am 
loo weak to defend the rampart against the host of assailants. 1 



300 



THE STANDARD SPEAKEB 



must call to my assistance their good sense, their patriotism and theil 
virtue. Do not , Gentlemen, suffer the rago of passion to drive reason 
from her seat ! If this law be indeed bad, let us join to remedy the 
defects. Has it been passed in a manner which wounded your pride. 
or roured your resentment? Have, I conjure you, the^ magnanimity 
to pardon that offence I I entreat, I implore you, to sacrifice thoss 
angry passions to the interests of our country. Pour out this pride 
of opinion on the altar of patriotism. Let it be an expiating liba,« 
tion for the weal of America. Do not, for God's sake, do not suffer 
fiiat pride to plunge us all into the abyss of ruin ! 

Indeed, indeed, it will be but of little, very little, avail, whether 
vne opinion or the other be right or wrong ; it will heal no wounds, it 
will pay no debts, it will rebuild no ravaged towns. Do not rely on 
that popular will which has brought us frail beings into political exist- 
ence. That opinion is but a changeable thing. It will soon change. 
This very measure will change it. You will be deceived. Do not, I 
beseech you, in a reliance on a foundation so frail, commit the dignity 
the harmony, the existence of our Nation, to the wild wind ! Trust 
not your treasure to the waves. Throw not your compass and your 
charts into the ocean. Do not believe that its billows will waft you 
into port. Indeed, indeed, you will be deceived ! Cast not away this 
only anchor of our safety. I have seen its progress. I know the 
difficulties through which it was obtained : I stand in the presence of 
Almighty God, and of the world ; and I declare to you, that, if you 
lose this charter, never, — no, never will you get another ! ¥/e are 
now, perhaps, arrived at the parting point. Here, even here, we 
stand on the brink of fate. Pause — pause ! — for Heaven's sake, 



147. FREE NAVIGATION OF THE MISSISSIPPI, 1803. — Gouverneur Morns. 

Sir, I wish for peace ; I wish the negotiation may succeed ; and, 
therefore, I strongly urge you tc adopt these resolutions. But, though 
you should adopt them, they alone will not insure success. I have no 
hesitation in saying that you ought to have taken possession of New 
Orleans and the Floridas, the instant your treaty was violated. You 
ought to do it now. Your rights are invaded : confidence in negotia- 
tion is vain ; there is, therefore, no alternative but force. You are 
exposed to imminent present danger : you have the prospect of great 
future advantage : you are justified by the clearest principles of right : 
you are urged by the strongest motives of policy : you are commanded 
by every sentiment of national dignity. Look at the conduct of Amer- 
ica in her infant years. When there was no actual invasion of right, 
but only a claim to invade, she resisted the claim, she spurned the 
insult. Did we then hesitate? Did we then wait for foreign alliance i 
No, — animated with the spirit, warmed with the soul of freedom, we 
threw our oaths of allegiance in the face of our sovereign, and com- 
mittod our fortunes and our fate to +te God of battles. Wo then wera 



SJKNATOKUL. CLINTO. 801 

lubjeots. We hud not then attained to the dignity ct an independent 
Republic. We then had no rank among the Nations of the earth, 
But we had the spirit which deserved that elevated station. And, now 
that we hav; gained it, shall we fall frotii our honor ? 

Sir, I rejicat to you, that I wish for peace, — real, lasting, honorable 
peace. To obtain and secure this blessing, let us, by a lx)ld and deci- 
Bive conduct, convince the Powers of Europe that we are determined 
to defend our rights, — that we will not submit to insult, that we will 
act bear degradation. This is the conduct which becomes a generous 
People. This conduct will command the r&spect of the world. Nay, 
Sir, it may rouse all Europe to a proper sense of their situation. 



U8. AGAINST FOREIGN Cbl^Q,VT.S£. — De mtt Clinton. Born, 1769 ; dierf, 1828. 
In 1302, De Witt Clinton was elected to the Seiiiite of the United States from New York. la 
the montli i>f Februiiry, 1803, a debate arose in that body on certain resolutions authorizing tha 
President to talie irumediate possession of New Orleans, and empoweriii;; bira to call out thirty 
thousand militia to effect that object. The following is an e.xtract from Clinton's speech on the 
wcasion. 

If I were called upon to prescribe a course of policy most imjwrtant 
for this country to pursue, it would be to avoid European connections 
and wars. The time must arrive when we will have to contend with 
some of the great powers of Europe ; but let that period be put ofiF as 
long as possible. It is our interest and our duty to cultivate peace, 
'•v»''th sincerity and good faith. As a young Nation, pursuing industry 
in every channel, and adventuring commerce in every sea, it is highly 
important that we should not only have a pacific character, but that 
we should really deserve it. If we manifest an unwarrantable ambi- 
tion, and a rage for conquest, we unite all the great powers of Europe 
agaiast us. The security of all the European possessions in our vicin- 
ity will eternally depend, not upon their strength, but upon our mod- 
eration and justice. Look at the Canadas ; at the Spanish territories 
to the South ; at the British, Spanish, French, Danish and Dutch 
West India Islands ; at the vast countries to the West, as flir as where 
the Pacific rolls its waves. Consider well the eventful consequences 
that would result, if we were possessed by a spirit of conquest. Con- 
sider well the impression which a manifestation of that spirit will make 
upon those who would be affected by it. 

If we are to rush at once into the territory of a neighboring IS ation. 
with fire and sword, for the misconduct of a subordinate officer, will 
not our national character be greatly injured ? Will we not be classed 
with the robbers and destroyers of mankind ? Will not the Nationa 
of Europe perceive in this conduct the germ of a lofty spirit, and ar. 
enterprising ambition, which will level them to the earth, when age 
has matured our strength, and expanded our powers of annojance, 
tmless they combine to cripple us in our infancy ? May not the con- 
sequences be, that we must look out for a naval force to protect oui 
commerce ? that a close alliance will result ? that we will be thrown 
aton;e into the ocean of European politics, where every wave that 
rolls and every wind that blows, will agitate our bark * Is thi^ a 



SOla THE STAND ARlJ SPEAKER. 

iesirable state of things ? Will the People of this country be seduoeo 
'nto it by all the colorings of rhetoric, and ali the arts of sophistry ; by 
fehement app^^als to their pride, and artful addresses to their cupidity ? 
Cio, Sir ! Three-fourths of the American People — I assert it boldly; 
v^d without fear of contradiction — are opposed to this measure ' And 
(vould you take ap arms with a mill-stone hanging round youi 
neck ? How would you bear up, not only against the force of the 
anerny, but against the irresistible current of public opinion ? The 
ihing. Sir, is impossible ; the measure is woree than madness it is 
(kicked beyond the powers of description ! 



149. AMERICAN INNOVATIONS. — James Madison. Born 1751 ; died, 1836 

James Madison, who served two tei-ras as Pi-esident of the IJnited States, was a Virginian by 
fcirth. As a writer and a statesman, he stands among the first of his times. 

Why is the experiment of an extended Republic to be rejected, 
merely because it may comprise what is new ? Is it not the glory of the 
People of America, that whilst they have paid a decent regard to the 
opinions of former times and other Nations, they have not suffered a 
blind veneration for antiquity, for custom, or for names, to overrule the 
suggestions of their own good sense, the knowledge of their own situa 
tion, and the lesson of their own experience ? To this manly spirit, 
posterity will be indebted for the possession, and the world for the 
example, of the numerous innovations displayed on the American the- 
atre, in favor of private rights and public happiness. Had no import 
aiit step been taken by the leaders of the P^evolution, for which a 
precedent could not be discovered, — no Government established, of 
which an exact model did not present itself, — the People of the United 
States might, at this moment, have been numbered among the melan- 
choly victims of misguided councils ; must, at best, have been laboring 
under the weight of some of those forms which have crushed the liber- 
ties of the rest of mankind. Happily for America, — happily, we trust, 
for the whole human race, — they pursued a new and more noble 
course. They accomplished a Revolution which has no parallel in the 
annals of human society. They reared the fabric of Governments 
which have no model on the face of the globe. They formed the design 
of a great confederacy, wliich it is incumbent on their successors to 
improve and perpetuate. If their works betray imperfections, we 
wonder at the fewness of them. If they erred most in the structure 
uf the Union, this was the most difficult to be executed ; this is the 
,yorV which has been new-modelled by the act of your Conventioii, and 
it is that act on which you are now to deliberate and to decide. 



150. INTEMPERANCE OF PARTY, 1815. — /Fm. Gos<on. Bora, 1778 ; rfjed, IS-U. 

Intemperance of party, wherever found, never will meet with an 
•savocate in me. It is a most calamitous scourge to our country ; the 
■»ane of social enjoyment, of individual justice, and of public virtue ; 
onfriendly to the best pursuits of man, his interest and his duty. Seek 
0} uphold your measures by the force of argument, not cf lenuncia- 



SE.VATORIAIi. — liOlNCY. SOJi 

lion. -StigiiiatizL' n:>t opprsition to your notions w th offensive tpithets. 
Thft?e prove nothing but your anger or your weakness; and tliey are 
Bure to generate a spirit of moral resistance, not easily to be checked oi 
tamed, (jive to Presidential views Constitutional respect ; but suffer 
them not to supersede the exercise of independent infjuiry, ICncour- 
age instead of suppressing fair discussion, so that those who approve 
not may at least have a respectful hearing. Thus, without derogating 
a particle from the energy of your measures, you will impart a tone 
to political dissensions which will deprive them of their acrimony, and 
render them harndess to the Nation. 

The nominal party distinctions, Sir, have become mere cabalistic 
terms. It is no longer a question whether, according to the theory of 
our Constitution, there is more danger of the Federal encroaching on 
the State Governments, or the Democracy of the State Governments 
paralyzing the arm of Federal power. Federalism and Democracy 
have lost their meaning. It is now a question of commerce, peace 
and Union of tlie States. On this question, unless the honesty and 
intelligence of the Nation shall confederate into one great American 
party, disdaining petty office-keeping and office-hunting views, defying 
alike the insolence of party prints, the prejudices of faction, and the 
dominion of Executive influence, I fear a decision will be pronounced 
fatal to the hopes, fatal to the existence, of the Nation. 



151. AGAINST THE EMBARGO, 1808. -Josiah Quincy 

I ASK, in what page of the Constitution you find the power of lay- 
ing an embargo. Directly given, it is nowhere. Never befoi'e did 
society witness a total prohibition of all intercourse like this, in a com- 
mercial Nation. But it has been asked in debate, " Will not Massa- 
chusetts, the cradle of liberty, submit to such privations?" An 
embargo liberty was never cradled in Massachusetts. Our liberty was 
not so much a mountain nymph as a sea nymph. She was free as air. 
She could swim, or she could run. The ocean was her cradle. Our 
fathers met her as she came, like the goddess of beauty, from the 
wa res. They caught her as she was sporting on the beach. They 
courted her while she was spreading her nets upon the rocks. But an 
embargo liberty, a hand-cuffed liberty, liberty in fetters, a liberty 
traversing between the four sides of a pri.son and beating her heaa 
against the walls, is none of our offspring. We abjure the monster ! 
Its parentage is all inland. 

Is embargo independence ? Deceive not yourselves ! It is palpable 
submission ! Gentlemen exclaim, " Great Britain smites us on ona 
eherk ! " And what does Administration ? " It turns the other, also.' 
Gentlemen say, "Great Britain is a robber; she takes our cloak." And 
what says Administration ? " Let her take our coat, also." France and 
Great Britain require you to relinquish a part of your ccmmerce^ and 
you yield it entirely ! At every corner of this great city we meet 
some gentWmen of the majority wringing their hands, and exclaiming 



80-1 THE ST^.>fDARb SPEAKEK. 

Wliat shall we do ? Nothing but an embargo will save lus. Remove it 
and That shall we do ? " Sir, it is not for me, an humble and uninflu 
ential individual, at an awful distance from the predominant influences, 
to suggest plans of Government. But, to my eye, the path of our dutj 
is as distinct as the Milky Way, — all studded with living sapphires, 
glowing with cumulating light. It is the path of active preparation ; 
of dignified energ_) It is the path of 1776 ! It consists not in 
abandoning our rights, but in supporting them, as they exist, and 
where they exist, — on the ocean as well as on the land. But I shall 
be told, " This may lead to war." I ask, " Are we now at peace?" 
Certainly not, unless retiring from insult be peace ; unless shrinkinjj 
under the lash be peace ! The surest way to prevent war- is not to fear 
it. The idea that nothing on earth is so dreadful as war is inculcated 
t(X) studiously among us. Disgrace is worse ! Abandonment of essen- 
tial rights is worse ! 

152. PREDICTIONS OF DISUNION, 1820. — IVm. Pinkney. Born, 1765 ; died, 1822 

Sir, the People of the United States, if I do not wholly mistake 
their character, are wise as well as virtuous. They know the value 
of that Federal association which is to them the single pledge and 
guarantee of power and peace. Their warm and pious affections v/ill 
cling to it, as to their only hope of prosperity and happiness, in defi. 
ance of pernicious abstractions, by whomsoever inculcated, or howso 
ever seductive and alluring in their aspx3ct. Sir, it is not an occasion 
Uke this, — although connected, as, contrary to all reasonable expec+. 
ition, it has been, with fearful and disorganizing theories, whic'c 
would make our estimates, whether fanciful or sound, of natural law 
the measure of civil rights and political sovereignty in the social state, 
— it is not, I say, an occasion like this, that can harm the Union. I^ 
must, indeed, be a mighty storm that can push from its moorings this 
gacred ark of the common sef^iy. It is not every trifling breeze, how- 
ever it may be made to sob and howl in imitation of the tempe,st, bj 
the auxiliary breath of the ambitious, the timid, or the discontented, 
that can drive this gallant vessel, freighted with everything that is 
iear to an American bosom, upon the rocks, or lay it a sheer hullj 
apon the ocean. 

I may, perhaps, mistake the flattering suggestions of hope (the great- 
ast of all flatterers, as we are told) for the conclusions of sober reason. 
Yet it is a pleasing error, if it be an error, and no man shall take it 
fr.om me. I will continue to cherish the belief, — ay. Sir, in defiance 
of the public patronage given to deadly speculations, which, invoking 
the name of Deity to aid their faculties for mischief, strike at aO 
^tablishments, — I will continue to cherish the belief that the Union 
Df these States is formed to bear up against far greater shocks than, 
tlirough all vicissitudes, it is ever likely to encounter. I will continue 
to cherish the belief that, although, like all other human mstitution." 
«r may "br a season be disturbed, or suffer momentary eclipse by the 



SENaTOUIAL. — JOHN RANDOLPH. 30^ 

aransit across its disk of some malignant planet, it possesses a recu{)er 
ative force, a redeeming energy, in the hearts of the People, that will 
*)oa restore it to its wonted calm, and give it back its accustomed 
splendor. On such a subject I will discard all hysterical apprehen- 
sions; I will deal in no sinister auguries; I will indulge in no hyjjo- 
chondriacal forebodings. I will look forward to the future with gaj 
and cheerful hope, and will make the prospect smile, in fancy at least 
until overwhelmhig reality shall render it no longer possible. 



163. BRITISH INFLUENCE, 1811. — yoAn Randolph. Bom, 1773; died, 1833. 

John Randolph, an eccentric Statesman, but a man of marked talents, was a Virginian bj 
birth, and a descendant, in the seventh ^'eneration, from the celebrated Pocahontas, the ilau-^h- 
wr of I'owhatan, a great Imlian chief. 

Imputations of British influence have been uttered -against the 
opponents of this war. Against whom are these cha,rges brought? 
Against men who, in the war of the Revolution, were in the Councils of 
the Nation, or fighting the battles of your country ! And by whom are 
these charges made ? By runaways, chiefly from the British dominions, 
since the breaking out of the French troubles. The great autocrat of 
all the Russias receives the homage of our high consideration. Thfy 
Dey of Algiers and his divan of Pirates are very civil, good sort of peo- 
ple, with whom we find no difficulty in maintaining the relations of peace 
and amity. "Turks, Jews and Infidels," — Melimelli or the Little 
Turtle, — barbarians and savages of every clime and color, are welcome 
to our arms. With chiefs of banditti, negro or mulatto, we can treat 
and can trade. Name, however, but England, and all our antipathies 
are up in arms against her. Against whom ? Against those whose 
blood runs in our veins ; in common with whom we claim Shakspeare, 
and Newton, and Chatham, for our countrymen ; whose form of govern- 
ment is the freest on earth, our own only excepted ; from whom every 
valuable principle of our own institutions has been borrowed, - repre- 
sentation, jury trial, voting the supplies, writ of habeas corpus, our 
whole civil and criminal jurisprudence; — against our fellow I^rotest- 
ants, identified in blood, in language, in religion, with ourselves. 

In what school did the worthies of our land — the Washingtons, 
Henrys, Hancocks, Franklins, Rutledges, of xlmerica — learn those prin- 
ciples of civil liberty which were so nobly asserted by their wisdom and 
valor ? American resistance to British usurpation has not been more 
^trinly cherished by these great men and their compatriots, — not more 
by Washington, Hancock and Henry, — than by Chatham, luid his illus- 
It'uws, as.sociates in the British Parliament. It ouglit to be remembered, 
too. that the heart of the English people was with us. It was a selfish 
and corrupt Ministry, and their servile tools, to whom ive were not 
more opposed than thei/ were. I trust that none such may ever exist 
among us ; for tods will ncvei" be wanting to subserve the purposes,, 
however ruinous or wicked, of kings and ministers of .state. I ao- 
knowledge the influence of a Shakspeare and a Milton apor my iir 
20 



306 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

aaination ; of a Jjocke, upon my understanding ; of a Sidney, upoB 
my political principles ; of a Chatham, upon qualities which would to 
God I pwsessed in common with that illustrious man ! of a Tillofcson a 
Sheriock, and a Porteus, upon my religion. This is a British iiiliueni,e 
which I can never shake oif. 



154. ON THE GREEK QUESTION, 1824. ~ /a. 

Perhaps one of the prettiest themes for declamation ever presented 
to a deliberative assembly is this proposition in behalf of Greece. But. 
Sir, I look at the measure as one fraught with deep and deadly dangei 
to the best interests of the American People. Liberty and religion 
are objects as dear to my heart as to that of any gentleman in this or 
any other assembly. But, in the name of these holy words, by this 
powerftil spell, is this Nation to be conjured and persuaded out of the 
highway of Heaven, — out of its present comparatively happy state, 
into all the disastrous conflicts arising from the policy of European 
powers, with all the consequences which flow from them ? 

Sir, I am afraid that along with some most excellent attributes and 
qualities, — the love of liberty, jury trial, the writ of habeas corpus, 
and all the blessings of free government, that we have derived from our 
Anglo-Saxon ancestors, — we have got not a little of their John Bull, 
or, rather, bull-dog spirit — their readiness to fight for anybody, and on 
any occasion. Sir. England has been for centuries the game-cock of 
Europe. It is impossible to specify the wars in which she has been 
engaged for contrary purposes ; — and she will, with great pleas'iire, see 
us take off her shoulders the labor of preserving the balance of power. 
We find her fighting now tor the Queen of Hungary, — then, for her 
inveterate foe, the King of Prussia ; now at war for the restoration 
of the Bourbons, — and now on the eve of war with them, for the 
liberties of Spain. These lines on the subject were never more appli 
cable than they have now become : 

"Now Europe's balanced — neither side prevails 
For nothing 's left in either of the scales. " 

If we pursue the same policy, we must travel the same road and 
enduie the same burdens under which England now groans. But, 
gJorious as such a design might be, a President of the United States 
would, in my apprehension, occupy a prouder place in history, who, when 
he retires fromofiice, can say to the People who elected him, I leave you 
without a debt than if 'le had fought as many pitched battles as Cresar, 
or achieved as many naval victories as Nelson. And what, Sir, is debtl 
In an individua., it is slavery. It is slavery of the worst sort, surpass- 
ing that of the West India Islands, — for it enslaves the mind as well 
as it enslaves the body ; and the creature who can be abject enough to 
incur and to submit to it receives in that condition of his being an 
adequate punishment. Of course, I speak of debt, with the exception 
af unavoidable misfortune. I speak of debt caused by mismanagement, 
f>} anwarrantablf generosity, by being generous befoi e being just J 



SENATGMAL. JOUX RANDOLPH. 307 

mow \hx\i tliit) sentiment was ridiculed by Sheridan, whose lanienlabie 
end was tiie best commentary ujwn its truth. No, Sir : let us abandon 
these projects. Lot us say to these seven millions of Greelcs, " We 
ielended ourselves, when we were but three millions, against a power. 
in comparison to which the Tui-k is but as a lamb. Go, and d: thou 
likewise." 



l&^. ON ALTERINO THE VIRGINIA CONSTirUTION, 1829.— JoAr. Randuipi. 

Sir, I see no wisdom in making this provision for future changoa 
I .-u must give Goverimicnts time to operate on the People, and give 
the People time to become gi-adually assimilated to their institutions. 
Almost anything is better than this state of perpetual uncertainty. A 
People may have the best form of Government that the wit of mar. 
ever devised, and yet, from its uncertainty alone, may, in effect, live 
under the worst Government in the world. Sir, how often must 1 
repeat, that change is not reform ? 1 am willing that this new Con- 
stitution shall stand Jis long as it is possible for it to stand ; and that, 
believe me, is a very short time. Sir, it is vain to deny it. They 
may say what they please about the old Constitution, — the defect is 
not there. It is not in the form of the old edifice, — neither in the 
design nor the elevation ; it is in the mxtterial, — it is in the People 
of Virginia. To my knowledge, that People are changed from what 
they have been. The four hundred men who went out to David were 
in debt. The partisans of C;Bsar were ^'?^ debt. The fellow-laljorers 
of Catiline were in debt. And I defy you to show me a desperately 
indebted People, anywhere, who can bear a regular, sober Goverinnent. 
I throw the challenge to all who hear me. T say that the character 
of the good old Virginia planter — the man who owned from five to 
twenty slaves, or less, who lived by hard work, and who paid his 
debts — is passed fiway. A new order of things is come. The period 
has arrived of living by one's wits; of living by contracting debts 
that one cannot pay; and, above all, of living by office-hunting. 

Sir, what do we see ? Bankrupts — branded bankrupts — giving 
great dinners, yending their children to the most expensive schools, 
giving grand parties, and just as well received as anybody in society ! 
I say that, in such a state of things, the old Constitution was tofj 
good for them, — they could not bear it. No, Sir ; they could not 
bear a freehold suffrage, and a property representation. I have always 
endeavored to do the People justice; but I will not flatter thei.i, — { 
will not pander to their appetite for change. I will do nothing to 
{)rovide for change. I will not agree to any rule of future apjxtrtion • 
raeu'i, or to any provision for future changes, called amendments to thii 
Constitution. Those who love change — who delight m jDublic eon- 
Posion — who wish to feed the cauldron, and make it bubble — may 
vote, if they please, for future changes. But by what spell, by 
what formula, are you going to bind the Peoi)le lo all future time f 
The days of Lycurg'is are gone by, when we couM swear the Pfiople 



30b THE STANDARD SI'EAKEK. 

aot to altei thft Constitution until he should return. ¥"0-2 may oiake 
wliat entries on parchment you please; — give me a Comtitution that 
will last for half a century ; that is all I wish for. No Constitution 
that you can make will last the one-half of half a century. Sir, I will 
stake anything, short of my salvation, that those who are malecontent 
now will be more malecontent, three years hence, than they ai e at this 
day. I have no favor for this Constitution. I shall vote against its 
adoption, and I shall advise all the people of my district to set tlieii 
faces — ay, and their shoulders, too — against it. 



156. IN FAVOR OF A STATE LAW AGAINST DUELLING.- Compilation 

TfiE bill which has been read, Mr. Speaker, claims the serious attei. 
tion of this House. It is one in which every citizen is deeply inter- 
ested. Do not, I implore you, confound the sacred name of honor 
with the practice of duelling, — with that ferocious prejudice which 
attaches all the virtues to the point of the sword, and is only fitted to 
make bad men bold. In what does this prejudice consist ? In an 
opinion the most extravagant and barbarous that ever took possession 
of the human mind ! — in the opinion that all the social duties are 
supplied by courage ; that a man is no more a cheat, no more a 
rascal, no more a calunmiator, if he can only fight ; and that steel and 
gunpowder are the true diagnostics of innocence and worth. And so 
the law of force is made the law of right ; murder, the criterion of 
honor I To grant or receive reparation, one nmst kill or be killed ! 
All offences may be wiped out by blood ! If wolves could reason, 
would they be governed by maxims more atrocious than these ? 

But we are told that public opinion — the opinion of the community 
in which we live — upholds the custom. And, Sir, if it were so, is 
there not more courage in resisting than in following a false publid 
opinion ? The man with a proper self-respect is little sensitive to the 
unmerited contempt of others. The smile of his own conscience in 
more prized by him than all that the world can give or take away. 
Is there any guilt to be compared with that of a voluntary homicide ' 
Could the dismal recollection of blood so shed cease ever to cry for ven- 
geance at the bottom of the heart ? The man who, with real or alfected 
gayety and coolness, goes to a mortal encounter with a fellow-boing, is, 
in my eyes, an object of more horror than the brute beast who strivei 
to tea - in pieces one of his kind. True courage is constant, immuta- 
ble self-poised. It does not impel us, at one moment, to brave murder 
and death ; and, the next, to shrink pusillanimously from an injurious 
public opinion. It accompanies the good man everywhere, — to thi 
field of danger, in his country's cause ; to the social circle, to lift hig 
voice in behalf of truth or of the absent ; to the pillow of disease, to 
fortify him against the trials of sickness, and the approach of death. 
Sir, if public opinion is unsound on this subject, let us not be partici- 
pan'.;> in the guilt of upholding a barbarous custom. Let us aflBx to 
U the bi-and of legislative rebuke and disqualification. Pass this till 



SENATCillAL. J. Q. ADAMS. 309 

md you do you? part in arresting it. Pas.s this bill, an.I you place a 
shield between the man who refuses a challenge and the public opinion 
that would disgrace iiim. Pass this bill, and you nii.'^e a barrier in tho 
road to honor and preferment, at whicli the aniljitious man will paiLse 
and reflect, before engaging in a duel. As fathei-s, as brothers, as 
men, and as legislators, I c;dl on this House to suppress an evil fvhich 
strikes at you in all these relations. I call on you to raise youi hands 
against a crime, the disgrace of our land, and the scourge of our |)eace 



157 THE DECLARATION Of INDEPENDENCE. — y. Q. u<uam». 

John Quincy Adams, the sixth I'lvsideut of the United States, and son of John Adams tbe 
second I'resident, was born at Quinoy, Massachusetts, July 11th, 1767. After studying law, he 
entered political life, was a))iinintL-d niiiiisti-r tn the Nethta'lands by W;ishington, and filled many 
nijrh offices, till lie reached the liiL'liest. in 1S2.3. lie died in the Cai)itol, at Wiishingtou, while 
a memlier of the House of Ri'|iresentatives, lS+8. His last words, as he fell in a fit, from which 
ne did not recover, were, 'This is the last of earth I " 

The Declaration of Independence ! The interest which, in that 
paper, has survived the occasion ujwn which it was issued, — the interest 
which is of every age and every clime, — the interest which quickens 
with the lapse of years, spreads as it grows old, and brightens as it re- 
cedes, — is in the principles which it proclaims. It was the first solemn 
declaration by a Nation of the only legitimate foundation of civil Gov- 
ernment. It was the corner-stone of a new fabric, destined to cover 
the surface of the globe. It demolished, at a stroke, the lawfulness of 
all Governments founded upon conquest. It swept away all the rul> 
bish of accumulated centuries of servitude. It announced, in practical 
form, to the world, the transcendent truth of the inalienable sovereignty 
of the People. It proved that the social compact was no figment of 
the imagination, but a real, solid, and sacred bond of the social union. 
From the day of this declaration, the People of North America were 
no longer the fragment of a distant empire, imploring justice and 
mercy from an inexorable master, in another hemisphere. They were 
no longer children, appealing in vain to the sympathies of a heartless 
mother ; no longer subjects, leaning upon the shattered columns of 
royal promises, and invoking the faith of parchment to secure their 
rights. They were a Nation, asserting as of right, and maintaining by 
war, its own existence. A Nation was born in a day. 

" How many ages hence 
Shall this, their lofty scene, be acted o'er, 
In States unborn, and accents yet unknown 1 " 

It will be acted o'er, fellow-citizens, but it can never be repeated. It 
stands, and must forever stand, alone; a beacon on the sunjmit of the 
TQOuntain, to which all the inhabitants of the earth may turn thek 
eyes, for a genial and saving light, till time shall be lost in eternity, 
(u:d this globe itself dissolve, nor leave a wreck behind. It stands foi- 
. 'ver, a light of admonition to the rulers of men, a light of salvation 
and redemption to the oppressed. So long as this planet shall Ijo 
inhabited by human beings, so long as man shiU be of a sooia' 
Mature, so long as Government shall be necessiiry to the gr^jat nmral 



310 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

purposes of society, so long as it shall be abused to the purposes of 
oppression, — so long shall this declaration hold out, to the &over«igi 
and to the subject, the extent and the boundaries of" their respcctivf 
rights and duties, founded in the laws of Nature and of Nature's God. 



168 WASHINGTON'S SWORD AND FRANKLIN'S STAFF.— J. Q. Adams Jn He U $ 
House of RepreseiLlatives, on reception of these memoria/s by Congress. 

The sword of Washington ! The staff of Franklhi ! 0, Sir, what 
Sf-scciaiions are linked in adamant with these names ! Washington, 
whose sword was never drawn but in the cause of his country, and 
never sheathed v/hen wielded in his country's cause \ Franklin, the 
phiiosojjher of the thunderbolt, the printing-press, and the plough- 
share ! — What names are these in the scanty catalogue of the bene- 
factors of human kind ! Washington and Franklin ! What other twc 
men, whose lives belong to the eighteenth century of Christendom 
have left a deeper impression of themselves upon the age in which they 
lived, and upon all after time ? 

Washington, the warrior and the legislator ! In war, contending, 
by the wager of battle, for the independence of his country, and for 
the freedom of the human race, — ever manifesting, amidst its horrors, 
,by precept and by example, his reverence for the laws of peace, and 
for the tenderest sympathies of humanity ; in peace, soothing the 
ferocious spirit of discord, among his own countrymen, into harmony 
and union, and giving to that very sword, now presented to his coun- 
try, a cliarm more potent than that attributed, in ancient times, to the 
lyre of Orpheus. 

Franklin ! — The mechanic of his own fortune ; teaching, in early 
youth, under the shackles of indigence, the way to wealth, and, in the 
shade of obscurity, the path to greatness ; in the maturity of man- 
hood, disarming the thunder of its terrors, the lightning of its fatal 
blast ; and wresting from the tyrant's hand the still more afHictivo 
sceptre of oppression : while descending into the vale of years, travers- 
ing the Atlantic Ocean, braving, in the dead of winter, the battle and 
the breeze, bearing in his hand the charter of Independence, which he 
had contributed to form, and tendering, from the self-created Nation 
to the mightiest monarchs of Europe, the olive-branch of peace, the 
mercurial wand of conmtcree, and the amulet of protection and safety 
to the man of peace, on the pathless ocean, from the inexorable cruelty 
and merciless rapacity of war. 

And, finally, in the last stage of life, with fourscore winters upc)D 
bis head, under the torture of an incurable disease, returning to \m 
native land, closing his days as the chief magistrate of his adopt<?d 
'wmmonwealth, after contributing by his counsels, under the Presi- 
dency of Washington, and recording his name, under the sanction of 
devout prayer, invoked by him to God, to that Constitution under tha 
authority of which we are here assembled, as the Representatives of 
tkfl North American People, to receive, in their namf; and for theiii, 



iJftN.^iORIAL. JACKSON. ?,11 

ih'jjse venerable relics of the wise, the valiant, and the goc"i fnuiderii 
of our great confederated Re[)ul»lic, — these sacred synibois of 3ur 
eoldcn age. May the}' l^o dcjtosited among the archives of our tiov- 
erument! And may every American, who shall hereafter b.'hold 
ihem, ejaculate a mingled offering of praise to that Supreme llultr of 
Ihe Uiiiverse, by whose tender mercies bur Union has been hitliorto 
pr&ierved, through all the vicissitudes and revolutions of this turliulent 
world ; and of prayer for the continuance of tliese blessings, by the 
dispensations of Providence, to our beloved country, from age to ago, 
till time shall be no more ! 



159. UNION LINKED WITH LIBERTY, 18ZS. —Andrew Jackson. B. 1767; d. 1S45 

Without Union, our independence and liberty would never havt 
been acliieved ; without Union, they can never be maintained. Divided 
into twenty-four, or even a smaller number of separate communities, 
we shall see our internal trade burdened with numberless restraints 
and exactions ; communication between distant points and sectiona 
obstructed, or cut off; our sons made soldiers, to deluge with blood the 
fields they now till in peace ; tlie mass of our People borne down and 
impoverished by taxes to support armies and navies ; and military 
leaders, at the head of their victorious legions, becoming our lawgivera 
and judges. The loss of liberty, of all good Government, of peace, 
plenty and happiness, must inevitably follow a dissolution of the 
Union. In supporting it, therefore, we support all that is dear to tho 
freeman and the philanthropist. 

The time at which I stand before you is full of interest. The eyes 
of all Nations are fixed on our Republic. The event of the existing 
crisis will be decisive, in the opinion of mankind, of the practicability of 
our Federal system of Government. Great is the stake placed in our 
hands ; great is the responsibility which must rest upon the People of 
the Uiiitetl States. Let us realize the importance of the attitude in 
which we stand before the world. Let us exercise forbearance and 
firnmess. Let us extricate our country from the dangers which sur- 
round it, and learn wisdom from the lessons they inculcate. Deeply 
impressed with the truth of these observations, and under the obliga- 
tion of that solemn oath which I am about to take, I shall continue to 
exert all my faculties to maintain the just powers of the Constitution, 
and to transmit unimpaired to posterity the blessings of our Fedenii 
Union. 

At the same time, it will be my aim to inculcate, by my ofiicial acts, 
the necessity of exercising, by the General Government, those uowcrs 
only tlvat are clearly delegated ; to encourage simplicity and economy 
in the expenditures of the Government ; to raise no more money from 
the People than may be requisite for these objects, and in a manner 
shat will best promote the interests of all classes of the community. 
Rnd of all portions of the Union. Constantly bearing in mind that, in 
en*ering into society, individuals must give up a share of »ib<:;rty *< 



il2 THE STANDARD SPEi.KEK. 

prese.Te the rf«c,'' it will be my desire so to discharge my duties as it 
fostei- with GUI brethren, in all parts of the country, a spirit of liberal 
■joiicesirn :ind compromise; and, by reconciling our fellow -citizens to 
those partial sacrifices which they must unavoidably make, for the 
preservation of a greater good, to recommend our invaluable Govern- 
meut and Union to the confidence and affections of the Ameiican Peo 
pie. Finally, it is my most fervent prayer to that Almighty Being 
before whom I now stand, and who has kept us in his hands from the 
infancy of our Republic to the present day, that he will so overi-ule all 
my intentions and actions, and inspire the hearts of my fellow-citizens, 
that we may be preserved from dangers of all kinds, and continue for- 
ever a UNITED AND HAPPY PEOPLE. 



160. RESPONSIBILITIES OF A RECOMMENDATION OP WAR. — Horace Binney. 

What are sufficient causes of war, let no man say, let no legislator 
Bay, until the question of war is directly and inevitably before him. 
Jurists may be permitted, with comparative safety, to pile tome upon 
tome of interminable disquisition upon the motives, reasons and causes, 
of just and unjust war ; metaphysicians may be suffered with impu- 
nity to spin the thread of their speculations until it is attenuated to a 
cobweb ; but, for a body created for the government of a great nation, 
and for the adjustment and protection of its infinitely diversified inter- 
ests, it is worse than folly to speculate upon the causes of war, until 
the great question shall be presented for immediate action, — until 
they shall hold the united question of cause, motive, and present expe- 
diency, in the very palm of their hands. War is a tremendous evil. 
Come when it will, unless it shall come in the necessary defence of 
our national security, or of that honor under whose protection national 
security reposes, it will come too soon ; — too soon for our national 
prosperity ; too soon for our individual happiness ; too soon for 
the frugal, industrious, and virtuous habits of our citizens ; too soon, 
perhaps, for our most precious institutions. The man who, for any 
cause, save the sacred cause of public security, which makes all wars 
defensive, — the man who, for any cause but this, shall promote or 
compel this final and terrible resort, assumes a responsibility second to 
none, — nay, transcendently deeper and higher than any, — which man 
can assume before his fellow-men, or in the presence of God hia 
Creator. 



131 THE SUPREME COURT OF THE UNITED STATES.— .^Torace Bmr.Ey. 

What, Sir, is the Supreme Court of the United States ? It ia 
the august representative of the wisdom and justice and conscience of 
this whole People, in the exposition of their Constitution and laws. 
It is the peaceful and venerable arbitrator between the citizens in all 
questions touching the extent and sway of (constitutional power. It ii 
f.be g-eat moral substitute for force in coutroversxes between the 
People, the States and the Union. It is that departmfjit of Admiuis 



SKNATOUIAL --1EGARE. 315 

.A'ation whose call a voice dispenses the blessings of the Constitution 
in the overthrow of all improvident or unjust legislation b^ a State, 
directed against the contracts, the currency, or the intercourhc of tht 
People, and in the niaintenanee of the lawful authority and institu- 
tions of the Union, against inroads, by color of law, from all or any of 
the States, or from Congress itself. If the voice of this trihinai, 
created by the People, be not authoritative to the People, what voice 
can be ? None, my fellow-citizens, absolutely none, but lliat voice 
which speaks through the trumpet of the conqueror. 

It has been truly said, by an eminent statesman, " that if that which 
Congress has enacted, and the Supreme Court has sanctioned, be not 
the law, then the reign of the law has ceased, and the reign of indi- 
vidual opinion has begun." It may be said, with ec^ual truth, that if 
tJiat which Congress has enacted, and the Supreme Court has sanc- 
tioned, be not the law, then has this Grovernment but one department, 
and it is that which wields the physical force of the country. If the 
Supreme Court of the Union, or its authority, be taken away, what 
remains ? Force, and nothing but force, if the Union is to continue 
at all. The world knows of no other powers of Government, than the 
power of the law, sustained by public opinion, and the poioer of the 
sword, sustained by the arm that wields it. I hold it, Sir, to be free 
from all doubt, that wherever an attempt shall be made to destroy this 
Union, if it is under the direction of ordinary understanding, it will 
begin by prostrating the influence of Congress, and of the Supreme 
Court of the United States. 



162. THE CONSTITUTION OF THE UNITED STATES NOT AN EXPERIMENT, 183T.- 
Hugh S. Legari. Born in South Carolina, 1797; died, 1843. 

We are told that our Constitution — the Constitution of the United 
States — is a mere esperimpnt. Sir, I deny it utterly; and he that 
says so shows me that he has either not studied at all, or studied to 
very little purpose, the history and genius of our institutions. The 
great cause of their prosperous results — a cause which every one of 
the many attempts since vainly made to imitate them, on this conti- 
nent or in Europe, only demonstrates the more clearly — is precisely 
the contrary. It is because our fathers made no experiments, and had 
no experhnents to make, that their work has stood. They were 
foned, by a violation of their historical, hereditary rights under the 
old common law of their race, to dissolve their connection with the 
morLer country. But the whole constitution of society in the States, 
An great body and bulk of their public law, with all its maxims ant? 
principles, — in short, all that is republican in our institutions, — 
remained, after the Revolution, and remains now, with some very 
subordinate movlifications, what it was from the beginning. 

Our written constitutions do nothing but consecrate and fortify the 
'■• plain rules of ancient liberty," handed down with Magna Charta. 
Srora the eiirliest history of our i ace. It is not a pieai of paper, Sir 



311 THE STANDARr SPEAKEit. 

It is ruA a few at/dtractions engrossed on parchment, that make fret 
jrovcrnftents. No, Sir ; the law of liberty must be inscribed on the 
aeart of the citizen : the word, if I may use the expression without 
irreverence, must become flesh. You must have a whole People 
trained, disciplined bred, — yea, and born, — as our fathers were, to 
institutions like ours. Before the Colonies existed, the Petition of 
Rights, that Magna Charta of a more enlightened age, had been pre^ 
sented, in 1628, by Lord Coke and his immortal compeers. Our 
founders brought it with them, and we have not gone one step beyond 
them. They brought these maxims of civil liberty, not in their 
libraries, but in their souls ; not as philosophical prattle, not as 
barren generalities, but as rules of conduct ; as a symbol of public 
duty and private right, to be adhered to with religious fidelity ; and 
the very first pilgrim that set his foot upon the rock of Plymouth 
stepped forth a living constitution, armed at all points to defend and 
to perpetuate the liberty to which he had devoted his whole being. 



163. emotions on RETURNING TO THE UNITED STATES, 1851. —Legate 

Sir, I dare not trust myself to speak of my country with the rap 
ture which I habitually feel when I contemplate her marvellous history 
But this I will say, — that, on my return to it, after an absence of 
only four years, I was ^lled with wonder at all I saw and all I heard. 
Wliat is to be compared with it ^ I found New York grown up ta 
almost double its former size, with th'j air of a great capital, instead of 
a mei-e flourishing commercial town, as I had known it. I listened to 
accounts of voyages of a thousand miles in magnificent steamboats on the 
watei's of those great lakes, which, but the other day, I left sleeping 
in the primeval silence of nature, in the recesses of a vast wilderness ; 
and I felt that there is a grandeur and a majesty in this irresistible 
onward march of a race, created, as I believe, and elected, to possess 
and people a Continent, which belong to few other objects, either of 
the moral or material world. 

We may become so much accustomed to such things that they shall 
nuike as little impression upon our minds as the glories of the Heavens 
above as; but, looking on them, lately, as with the eye of the stranger, 
I felt, what a recent English traveller is said to have remarked, thatj 
fai from being without poetry, as some have vainl^r alleged, our whole 
> vuntry is one great poem. Sir, it is so ; and if there be a man that 
Jan Ihink of what is doing, in all parts of this most blessed of all 
l..u;d.-: t embellish and advance it, — who can contemplate that living 
.iriss jf intelligence, activity and improvement, as it rolls on, in its 
sure and steady progress, to the uttermost extremities of the West, — 
who can see scenes of savage desolation transformed, almost with thp 
suddenness of enchantment, into those of fruitfulness and beauty, 
crowned with flourishing cities, filled with the noblest of all popula- 
tions, — if there be a man, I say, that cai\ witness all this, passing 
iinder his very eyes, without feeling his heart beat high, &oi hia 



SENATORIAL. CLAF. 8]fi 

Iniagint tioii warmed and transported by it be sure. Sir, that the 
rapture? oCsorii exist not for him; he would listen in vain to Tasso oi 
Gamoens, telling a tale of the wars of knights and crusaders, or of tha 
discovery and xinquest of another hemisphere. 



164. IN FAVOR OF PROSKCrriNO TlIK WAR, ISli. — mm y Clay. 

WuEN the administration was striving, by the operation of peaceful 
measures, to bring Great Britain back to a sense of justice, the Gentle 
men of the opposition were for old-fashioned war. And, now they 
have got old-fashioned war, their sensibilities are ciuelly shocked, and 
all their sympathies lavished upon the harmless inhabitants of the 
adjoining Piovinces. What does a state of war present ? The united 
energies of one People arrayed against the combined energies of 
another ; a conflict in which each party aims to inflict all the injury? 
it can, by sea and land, upon the tei-ritoi-ics, property, and citizens 
of the other, — subject only to the rules of mitigated war, practised 
by civilized Nations. The Gentlemen woulfl not touch the continental 
provinces of the enemy ; nor, I presume, for the same reason, her pos- 
sessions in the West Indies. The same humane spirit would spare the 
seamen and soldiers of the enemy. The sacred person of his Majesty 
must not bo attacked, for the learned Gentlemen on the other side 
are quite familiar with tlie maxim that the King can do no wrong. 
Indeed, Sir, T know of no pei'son on whom we may make war, upon 
the principles of the honorable Gentlemen, but Mr. Stephen, the 
celebrated author of the orders in council, or the board of admiralty, 
who authorize and regulate the practice of impressment ! 

The disasters of the war admonish us, we are told, of the necessity 
of terminating the contest. If our achievements by land have been 
less splendid than those of oui- intrepid seamen by water, it is not 
because tlie American soldier is less brave. On the one element, 
oi'ganization, discipline, and a thorough knowledge of their duties, 
exist, on the i)art of the ofiicers and their men. On the other, almost 
everything is yet to be acfjuirod. We have, however, the consolation 
that our country abounds with the richest materials, and that in no 
instance, when engaged in action, have our arms been tarnished. 

An honorable peace is attainable only by an eflicient war. My 
plan would be, to call out the ample resources of the country, give 
them a judicious direction, prosecute the war with the utmost vigor, 
atrike wherever we can reach the enemy, at sea or on land, and negoti- 
ate the terms of a peace at Quebec or at Halifiix. We ai-e told that 
England is a proud and lofty Nation, which, disdaining to wait for 
danger, meets it half way. Haughty as she is, we once triumphed 
over hei ; and, if we do not listen to the councils of timidity and despair 
we shall again prevail. In such a cause, with the aid of Providence 
we must come out crowned with success ; but, if we fail, let us fail like 
men, — lash ourselves to our gallant tars, and expb-e together in outi 
commo.i stiugglc, fighting for free trace and seamen's rights' 



3lb THE STANDARD SPEAl ilR. 

itf6. DEFENCE OF JEFFERSON, 1813. — Henry Clay. 

Next to the notice which the opiX)sition has found itself called ajxn 
to bestow upon the French emperor, a distinguished citizen of ^''irginisi, 
tbrmerly President of the United States, has never for a moment failed 
to recdive their kindest and most respectful attention. An honorable 
gentleman from Massachusetts, of whom I am sorry to say, it becomes 
necessary for me, in the course of my remarks, to take some notice., 
has alluded to him in a remarkable manner. Neither his retirement 
from public office, his eminent services, nor his advanced age, can 
exempt this patriot from the coarse assaults of party malevolence. 
No, Sir ! In 1801, he snatched from the rude hand of usurpation the 
violated Constitution of his countr}', — and that is his crime. He pre- 
served that instrument, in form, and substance, and spirit, a precious 
inheritance for generations to come, — and for this he can never be for- 
given. How vain and impotent is party rage, directed against such a 
man ! He is not more elevated by his lofty residence, upon the sum- 
mit of his own favorite niQuntain, than he is lifted, by the serenity of 
his mind and the consciousness of a well-spent life, above the malig- 
nant passions and bitter feelings of the day. No ! his own beloved 
Monticello is not less moved by the storms that beat against its sides, 
than is this illustrious man, by the bowlings of the whole British pack, 
let loose from the Essex kennel ! When the gentleman to whom 1 
have been compelled to allude shall have mingled his dust with that of 
his abused ancestors, — when he shall have been consigned to oblivion, 
or, if he lives at all, shall live only in the treasonable annals of a cer- 
tain junto, — the name of Jefferson will be hailed with gratitude, his 
memory honored and cherished as the second founder of the liberies 
of the People, and the period of his administration will be looked back 
to as one of the happiest and brightest epochs of American history ' 



166. MILITARY INSUBORDINATION, 1S19. — Henry Clay. 

We are fighting a great moral battle, for the benefit, not only of our 
TOuutry, but of all mankind. The eyes of the whole world are in fixed 
attention upon us. One, and the largest portion of it, is gazing with 
contempt, with jealousy, and with envy ; the other portion, with hope, 
with confidence, and with affection. Everywhere the black cloud of 
legitimacy is suspended over the world, save only one bright spot, 
which breaks out from the political hemisphere of the West, to en- 
lighten, and animate, and gladden, the human heart. Obscure tha< 
by the downfall of liberty here, and all mankind are enshrouded in a 
l^all of universal darkness. To you, Mr. Chairman, belongs the high 
priviloffe of transmitting, unimpaired, to posterity, the fair character 
and ^iDcrty of our country. Do you expect to execute this high trust 
6y trampling, or suffering to be trampled down, law, justice, the Con. 
Btitution, and the rights of the People? by exhibiting examples of 
jikimanity. and cruelty, and amliition ' When the minions ol desoot 



bENATOIUAL. — CLaI. SI? 

lem hoard, in Europe, of the seizure of Peneaf\/la, how did thej 
chuckle, and cliide the admirers of our institutions, tauntingly pointing 
CO the demonstration of a spirit of injustice and aggrandizement made 
oy our country, in the midst of an amicable negotiation ! Behold, 
said they, the conduct of those who are constantly reproaching Kings I 
Yon saw how those admirers were astounded and hung their heads. 
You saw, too, when that illustrious man who presides over us adopted 
his pacific, moderate, and just course, how they once more lifted up 
their heads, with exultation and delight beaming in their countenances. 
And you saw how those minions themselves were finally compelled to 
unite in the general pi-aises bestowed upon our Government. Beware 
how you forfeit this exalted character I Beware how you give a fatal 
sanction, in this infant period of our republic, scarcely yet two-score 
years old, to military insubordination ! llemember that Greece had 
her Alexander, Rome her Cajsar, England her Cromwell, France her 
Bonaparte ; and that, if we would escape the rock on which they split, 
we must avoid their errors. 

I hope gentlemen will deliberately survey the awful isthmus on 
which we stand. They may bear down all opposition ; they may even 
vote the General* the public thanks; they may carry him triumph- 
antly through this House. But, if they do, in my humble judgment, 
it will be a triumph of the principle of insubordination, a triumph of 
the military over the ci^^l authority, a triumph over the powers of this 
House, a triumph over the Constitution of the land. And I pray most 
devoutly to Heaven, that it may not prove, in its ultimate effects and 
consequences, a triumph over the liberties of the People ! 



167. THE NOBLEST PUBLIC VIRTUE, lUl. — Henry Clay. 

There is a sort of courage, which, I frankly confess it, I do net 
posse.ss, — a boldness to which I dare not aspire, a valor which I cannot 
covet. I cannot lay myself down in the way of the welfare and hap- 
piness of my country. That, I cannot, — I have not the courage to do. 
T cannot interpose the power with which I may be invested — a power 
conferred, not for my personal benefit, nor for my aggrandi/^ement, but 
for my country's good — to check her onward march to greatness and 
glory. I have not courage enough. I am too cowardly tor that. I 
would not, I dare not, in the exercise of such a thi'eat, lie down, and 
place my body across the path that leads my country to prosperity and 
happiness. This is a sort of courage widely different from that which 
B man may display in his private conduct and personal relations. Per- 
BOnal or private courage is totally distinct from that higher and noblei 
oC'Urage which prompts the patriot to offer himself a voluntary sacrifice 
to his country's good. 

Apprehensions of the imputation of the want of firmness sonicrnnes 
impel us t<i perform rash and inconsiderate acts. It is tie greattai 

♦General Jackson. 



2lh TKE S'a.ANDARD SPEAKER. 

courage to be able to bear the imputation of the \Tant of courage. BuV 
pride, vanity, egotism, so unamiable and oiFensive in private life, are 
vices which partake of the character of crimes, in th.e conduct of publio 
aflairs. The unfortunate victim of these passions cannot see beyond the 
little, petty, contemptible circle of his own personal interests. All his 
thoughts are withdrawn from his country, and concentrated on his con- 
eistency, his firmness, himself! The high, the exalted, the subliicc- 
emotions of a patriotism which, soaring towards Heaven, rises far above 
all mean, low, or selfish things, and is absorbed by one soul-transport 
ing thought of the good and the glory of one's country, are never felt 
in his impenetrable bosom. That patriotism which, catching its inspir- 
ations fi om the immortal God, and, letiving at an immeasurable distance 
below all lesser, grovelling, personal interests and feelings, animates 
and prompts to deeds of self-sacrifice, of valor, of devotion, and of 
death itself, — that is public virtue ; that is the noblest, the sublimest 
of all public virtues ! 

168. THE EXPUNGING KESOLL'TION, 1831. — Henry Clay. 

The Senato having, in 18.34, passed resolutions to the effect that President Jackson had 
fessumed and exercised powers not granted by the Constitution, notice was given of a motion 
to eswunge tlie same, which motion was tal^en up and carried in 1837, when the majority of the 
Senate was of a different pai'ty complexion. 

What patriotic purpose is to be accomplished by this expunging 
resolution ? Can you make that not to be which has been ? Can you 
eradicate from memory and from history the fact that, in March, 1834, 
a majority of the Senate of the United States passed the re.?oIation 
which excites your enmity ? Is it your vain and v,ncked obje^^t to 
arrogate to yourselves that power of annihilating the past which has 
been denied to Omnipotence itself? Do you intend to thrust your 
hands into our hearts, and to pluck out the deeply-rooted convictions 
which arc there ? Or, is it your design merely to stigmatize us ^ 
You cannot stigmatize us ! 

"Ne'er yet did base dishonor blur our name." 

Standing securely upon our conscious rectitude, and bearing aloft the 
shield of the Constitution of our country, your puny efforts are impo- 
tent, and we defy all your power I 

But why should I detain the Senate, or needlessly waste my breath 
in fruitless exertions ? The decree has gone forth. It is one of 
urgency, too. The deed is to be done, — that foul deed, which, like 
the stain on the hands of the guilty Macbeth, all ocean's waters will 
Qover wash out. Proceed, then, to the noble work which lies before 
j'ou ; and. like other skilful executioners, do it quickly. And, when 
you have per]>et rated it, go home to the People, and tell them what 
glorious honors you have achieved for our common country. Toll them 
that you have extinguished one of the brightest and purest lights thai 
9ver "tiurnt at tlic altar of civil liberty. Tell them that you havs 
"iilcn-'i^/l on^ of the noblest batteries that ever thundered in diihvce of 



SENATORIAL. CLA\. 



31ft 



tie Coii6ti(au;n, and that you have bravuly spiked the cannon, Toll 
chein that, honcefoiward, no matter what daring or outrageous act anv 
President may perform, you have forever hermetically sealed the mouth 
of the Senate. Tell them that he may fearlessly assume what [tower 
he pleiuses, — snatch from its lawful custody the Public Purse, com- 
mand a military detachment to enter the halls of the Capitol, overaive 
Congi-ess, trample down the Constitution, and raze every bulwark of 
freedom, — but that the Senate must stand mute, in silent submission, 
and not dare to lift an opposing voice ; that it must wait until a House 
of Representatives, humbled and subdued like itself, and a majority of 
it composed of the partisans of the President, shall . prefer articles of 
impeachment. Tell them, finally, that you have restored the glorious 
doctrine of passive obedience and non-resistance ; and, when you have 
told them this, if the People do not sweep you from your places with 
their indignation, I have yet to learn the character of American free 
men ! 

169. ON RECOGNIZING THE INDEPENDENCE OF GREECE, 1824. — C/ay. 

Are we so low, so base, so despicable, that we may not express oui 
horror, articulate our detestation, of the most brutal and atrocious wai 
that ever stained earth, or shocked high Heaven, with the ferocious deeds 
of a brutal soldiery, set on by the clergy and followers of a fanatical and 
inimical religion, rioting in excess of blood and butchery, at the mere 
details of which the heart sickens ? If the great mass of Christendom can 
look coolly and calmly on, while all this is perpetrated on a Christian 
People, in their own vicinity, in their very presence, let us, at least, 
show that, in this distant extremity, there is still some sensibility ani? 
sympathy for Christian wrongs and sufferings; that there are still 
feelings which can kindle into indignation at the oppression of a Peo- 
ple endeared to us by every ancient recollection, and every modern tie 
But, Sir, it is not first and chiefly for Greece that I wish to see this 
measure adopted. It will give them but little aid, — that aid purely 
of a moral kind. It is, indeed, soothing and solacing, in distress, tc 
hear the accents of a friendly voice. We know this as a People. 
But, Sir, it is principally and mainly for America herself, for the credit 
and character of our connnon country, that I hope to see tliis resolu- 
tion pass it is for our own unsullied name that I feel. 

What appearance. Sir, on the page of history, would a record like 
•fhis make : — " In the itionth of January, in the year of our Lord and 
Saviour IB'ii, while all European Christendom beheld with cold, 
anfeeling apathy the unexampled wrongs and inexpressible misery of 
Christian Greece, a proposition was made in the Congress of the 
United States, — almost the sole, the last, the greatest repository 
of human hope and of human freedom, the representatives of a Nation 
rapable of bringing into the field a million of bayonets, — wliile the 
freemen of that Nation were spontaneously expressing its deeo-tone(i 
feeliag. !ts ferv = nt prayer for Grecian succesn ; while the whole Con 



320 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

tinent was rising, by one simultaneous motion, solemnly and anxiousii 
Bupplicating and invoking the aid of Heaven to spare Greece, and U 
invigorate her arms; while temples and senate-houses were all resound* 
ing with one burst of generous sympathy ; — in the year of our Lord 
and Saviour, — that Saviour alilce of Christian Greece and of us, — a 
proposition was offered in the American Congress, to send a messenger 
to Greece, to uiquire into her state and condition, with an expression 
of our good wishes and our sympathies ; — and it was rejected ! " Go 
home, if you dare, — go home, if you can, — to your constituents, and tell 
them that you voted it down ! Meet, if you dare, the appalling coun- 
t<Miances of those who sent you here, and tell them that you shrank 
from the declaration of your own sentiments ; that, you cannot tell 
how, but that some unknown dread, some indescribable apprehension, 
some indefinable danger, affrighted you ; that the spectres of cimeters 
and crowns, and crescents, gleamed before you, and alarmed you ; and, 
that you suppressed all the noble feelings prompted by religion, by lib- 
erty, by National independence, and by humanity ! I cannot bring 
myself to believe that such will be the feeling of a majority of this 
House. 

no. ON THE PROSPECT OF WAR, 1811. Tohn C. Calhoun. Born,l1S2; djerf, 1850. 

We are told of the danger of war. We are ready to acknowledge 
its hazard and misfortune, but I cannot think that we have any extraor- 
dinary dangei' to apprehend, — at least, none to warrant an acquies- 
cence in the injuries we h?.ve received. On the contraiy, I believe no 
war would be less dangerous to internal peace, or the safety of the 
country. 

In speaking of Canada, the gentleman from Virginia introduced the 
name of Montgomery with much feeling and interest. Sir, there ia 
danger in that name to the gentleman's argument. It is sacred to 
heroism ! It is indignant of submission ! It calls our memory back 
\o the time of our Revolution, — to the Congress of 1774 and 1775. 
Suppose a speaker of that day had risen and urged all the arguments 
which we have heard on this occasion : had told that Congress, " Your 
contest is about the right of laying a tax ; the attempt on Canada has 
nothing to do with it ; the war will be expensive ; danger and devasta- 
tion will overspread our country, and the power of Great Britain ia 
irresistible " ? With what sentiment, think you, would such doctrines 
have been received ? Happy for us, they had no force at that period 
of our country's glory. Had such been acted on, this hall would never 
have witnessed a great People convened to deliberate for the general 
srood ; a mighty Empire, with prouder prospects than any Nation tho 
sun ever shone on, would not have risen in the West. No ! we would 
have been vile, subjected Colonies • governed by that imperious rod 
which Britain holds over her distant Provinces. 

The Gentleman is at a loss to account for what he ealk our hatrec 
vo England. He asks, How can we hate tue country o^ fiOcke. of 



SENATORIAL. wALUOCN 32 1 

Newton. Hampden and Chatham ; a country having the «iine language 
and customs with ourselves, and descended from a common ancestry ? 
Sii% the laws of human affections are steiidy and uniform. I-f we have 
so nmch to attach us to that country, powerful, indeed., nuujt be the 
cause which has overpowered it. Yes, Sir ; there is a cause strong 
enough. Not that occult, courtly affection which he has supposed fo 
be entertained for France ; but contiimed and unprovoked insult and 
injury, — a cause so manifest, that the Gentleman had to exert nmch 
uigenuity to overlook it. But, in his eager admiration of that coun- 
try, he has not been sufficiently guarded in his argument. Has he 
reflected on the cause of that admiration ? Has he examined the rea- 
sons of our high regard for her Chatham ? It is his ardent patriot- 
ism iiis heroic courage, which could not brook the least insult or 
injury offered to his country, but thought that her intei'est and houoi 
ought to be vindicated, be the hazard and expense what they might. 
I hope, when we are called on to admire, we shall also be asked to 
imitate. 



ITl. AGAINST THE FORCE BILL, 1S33. — John C. Calhoun. 

It is said that the bill ought to pass, because the law must be 
enforced. Tf/e law must he enforced/ The imperial edict must h« 
executed ! It is under such sophistry, couched in general terms, with- 
out looking to the limitations which must ever exist in the practical 
exercise of power, that the most cruel and despotic acts ever have been 
covered. It was such sophistry as this that cast Daniel into the lions' 
den, and the three Innocents into the fiery furnace. Under the same 
8ophisti-y the bloody edicts of Nero and Caligula were executed. TJie 
law must he enforced! Yes, the act imposing the tea-tax " must be 
executed." This was the very argument which impelled Lord North 
and his administration in that mad career which forever separated us 
from the British Crown. Under a similar sophistry, " that religion 
must be protected," how many massacres have been perpetrated, and 
how many martyrs have been tied to the stake ! What ! acting on 
this vague abstraction, are you prepared to enforce a law, without con- 
sidering whether it be just or unjust, constitutional or unconstitu- 
tion-il ? Will you collect money when it is acknowledged that it is 
not wanted ? He who earns the money, who digs it from the earth 
with the sweat of his brow, has a just title to it, against the universe, 
No one has a right to touch it without his consent, except his govern' 
meDt, and that only to the extent of its legitimate wants ; — to take 
more is robbery ; and you propose by this bill to enforce robbery by 
murder Yes ! to this result you must com.e, by this miserable soph- 
istry, this vague abstraction of enforcing the law, without a regard to 
the fact whether the law be just or unjust, constitutional or unconsti 
iutional! 

In the same spirit we are told that the Union must be preserved 
"vithout regard to the means. And how is it proposed to preserve \h 
21 



B22 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

tTnion f By force. Does any man, in his senses, believe luat tbiif 
beautiful structure, this harmonious aggregate of States, produced bj 
the joint consent of all, can be preserved by force ? Its very intro- 
duction would be the certain destruction of this Federal Union. No. 
00 ! You cannot keep the States united in their constitutional and fed- 
eral bonds by force. Has reason fled from our borders ? Have we 
w'eased to reflect ? It is madness to suppose that the Union can be 
preserved by force. I tell you, plainly, that the Bill, should it pass, 
cannot be enforced. It will prove only a blot upon your statute-book; 
a reproach to the year, and a disgrace to the American Senate. ] 
repeat that it will not be executed ; it will rouse the dormant spirit of 
the People, and open their eyes to the approach of despotism. The 
country has sunk into avarice and political corruption, from which 
nothing can arouse it but some measure on the part of the Govern- 
ment, of folly and madness, such as that now under consideration. 



172. THE PURSE AND THE SWORD, 1336. — John C. Calhoun. 

There was a time, in the better days of the Republic, when, to show 
what ought to be done, was to insure the adoption of the measure. 
Those days have passed away, I fear, forever. A power has risen up 
in the Government greater than the People themselves, consisting of 
many, and various, and powerful interests, combined into one mass, 
and held together by the cohesive power of the vast surplus in the 
banks. This mighty combination will be opposed to any change ; and 
it is to be feared that, such is its influence, no measure to which it is 
opposed can become a law, however expedient and necessary ; and that 
the public money will remain in their possession, to be disposed of, not 
as the public interest, but as theirs, may dictate. The time, indeed, 
seems fast approaching, when no la ,-7 can pass, nor any honor can be con- 
ferred, from the Chief Magistrate to the tide-waiter, without the assent 
of tliis powerful and interested combination, which is steadily becoming 
the Government itself, to the utter subversion of the authority of the 
People. Nay, I fear we are in the midst of it ; and I look with 
anxiety to the fate of this measure, as the test whether we are or not. 

If nothing should be done, — if the money which j listly belongs to 
the People be left where it is, with the many and overwhelming objec- 
tions to it, — the fact will prove that a great and ladical change has been 
effected ; that the Government is subverted ; that the authority of the 
People is suppressed by a union of the banks and the Executive, — 3 
jinion a hundred times more dangerous than that of Church and State, 
agfiinst which the Constitution has so jealously guarded. It would bfi 
the announcement of a state of things, from which, it is to be feared, 
.there can be no recovery, — a state ef boundless corruption, and the 
lowest ana basest subserviency. It seems to be the order of Provi- 
dence that, with the exception of these, a People may recover trono 
any other evil. Piracy, robbery, and violence of every description 
-m&y as history proves, be succeeded by virtue, patriotism, and oatior 



S EX A.TOKI A L. — CALHOUN . 32*1 

»I greiitiiess ; but where is th« example to be found of a degenerate, 
aorrapt, and subservient People, who have ever recovered thoir virtue 
»nd patriotism ? Their doom has ever been the lowest state of wretch. 
odnesa and misery : scorned, trodden down, and obliterated forevei 
froiK the list of nations ! May Heaven grant that such may nevrr h« 
our doom . 



173. LIBERTY THE MEED OF INTELLiaENCE, lUS.—Juhn C. Calhcun- 

Society can no moi-e exist without Government, in one form or 
another, than man without society. It is the political, then, which 
Includes the social, that is his natural state. It is the one for which 
his Creator formed him, into which he is impelled irresistibly, and in 
which only his race can exist, and all his faculties be fully developed. 
Such being the case, it follows that any, the worst form of Govern- 
ment, is better than anarchy ; and that individual liberty, or freedom, 
must be subordinate to whatever power may be necessary to protect 
society against anarchy within, or destruction from without : for the 
safety and well-being of society are as paramount to individual liberty, 
as the safety and well-being of the race is to that of individuals ; and, 
in the same proportion, the power necessary for the safety of society 
is paramount to individual liberty. On the contrary, Government ha.s 
no right to control individual liberty, beyond what is necessary to the 
safety and well-being of society. Such is the boundary which separ- 
ates the power of Government, and the liberty of the citizen, or sub- 
ject, in the political state, which, as I have shown, is the natural state 
of man, — the only one in which his I'ace can exist, and the one in 
which he is born, lives, and dies. 

It follows, from all this, that the quantum of power on the part of 
the Government, and of liberty on that of individuals, instead of being 
equal in all cases, must, necessarily, be very unequal among different 
people, according to their different conditions. For, just in proportion 
as a People are ignorant, stupid, debased, corrupt, exposed to violence 
within and danger without, the power necessary for Government to 
possess, in order to preserve society against anarchy and destruction, 
becomes greater and greater, and individual liberty less and less, until 
'.he lowest condition is reached, when absolute and despotic power be- 
comes necessary on the part of the Government, and individual liberty 
extinct. So, on the contrary, just as a People rise in the scale of 
intelligence, virtue and patriotism, and the more perfectly they )■» 
come acquainted with the nature of Government, the ends for whicb 
it was ordered, and how it ought to be administered, and the less the 
tendency to violence and disorder within and danger from abroad, 
the power necessary for Government becomes less and less, and indi 
vidual liberty greater and greater. Instend, then, of all men having 
the same right to liberty and equality, as is claimed by those who 
hold that they are all born free and equal, liberty is the noble and 
aighesi reward bestowed on mental and moral development, combinr'd 



32} THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

with fiivoraljh tircumstances. Instead, then, of liberty and equalit) 
being born with man, — instead of all men, and all classes and descrip 
tions, being equally entitled to them, — they are high prizes to be won 
and are, in their most pei feet state, not only the highest reward tlal 
fan be bestowed on om* race, but the most difficult to be won, and. 
when won, the most difficult to be preserved. 



174. POPULAR INTEREST IN ELECTIONS. — Geo. McDuffie. 

Oei rge McDuffie. a distinguished citizen of South Carolina, studied law with John C. Cat 
t 'UTi, and entered Congress in 18-21, where he gained great reputation as a Speaker. His styH 
Bt" elocution wag passionate and impetuous. He died in 1851. 

We have been frequently told that the farmer should attend to his 
plough, and the mechanic to his handicraft, during the canvass for the 
Presidency. Sir, a more dangerous doctrine could not be inculcated. 
If there is any spectacle from the contemplation of which 1 would 
shrink with peculiar horror, it would be that of the great mass of the 
American People sunk into a profound apathy on the subject of their 
highest political interests. Such a spectacle would be more portentous, 
to the eye of intelligent patriotism, than all the monsters of the earth, 
and fiery signs of the Heavens, to the eye of trembling superstition. 
If the People could be indifferent to the fate of a contest for the Pres- 
idency, they would be unworthy of freedom. 

" Keep the People quiet ! Peace ! Peace ! " Such arc the whis- 
pers by which the People are to be lulled to sleep, in the very crisis 
of their highest concerns. Sir, " you make a solitude, and call it 
peai3e ! " Peace ? 'T is death ! Take away all interest from the Peo- 
ple in the election of their Chief Ruler, and liberty is no more. 
What, Sir, is to be the consequence ? If the Pecplc do not elect the 
President, somebody must. There is no special Providence to decide 
the question. Who, then, is to make the election, and how will it 
operate ? Make the People indifferent, destroy their legitimate influ- 
ence, and you communicate a morbid violence to the efforts of those 
wlio are ever ready to assume the control of such affairs, the merce- 
nary intriguers and interested office-hunters of the country. Tell m« 
not, Sir of popular violence ' Show me a hundred political faction- 
ists, — men who look to the election of a President as a means of 
gratifying their high or their low ambition, — and I will show you the 
very materials for a mob, ready for any desperate adventure, connected 
with their common fortunes. The People can have no such motives ; 
they look only to the interest and glory of the country. 

There was a law of Athens, which subjected every citizen to pim» 
ishment, who refused to take sides in the political parties which divided 
tlie llepublic. It was founded in the deepest wisdom. The ambitious 
few will inevitably acquire the ascendency, in the conduct of human 
affairs, if the patriotic many, the People, are not stimulated and 
reused to a proper activity and effort. Sir, no Nation on earth has 
Rvor exerted so extensive an influence on human affairs as this will 



BBNATORIAL, 8ER0 EANT. 223 

eertainly exercise, if we preserve our glorious system of Govornment 
in its pur'ty. The liberty of this country is a sacred depository — a 
vestal fire, which Providence has couiniitted to us for the general benefit 
jf inankind. It is the world's last ho{)e. Extinguish it, and the 
earth will be covered with eternal darknass. But once put out that 
fire, and I " know not where is the Promethean heat which can that 
li";ht relume." 



176. MILITARY QUALIFICATIONS DISTINCT FKOJI CIVIL, 18-2S.— John ier^eerU 

It has been maintained that the genius which constitutes a grea* 
military man is a very high quality, and may be equally usefid in the 
Cabinet and in the field ; that it has a sort of universality equally 
applicable to all affairs. We have seen, undoubtedly, instances of a 
rare and wonderful combination of civil and military qualification!* 
both of the highest order. That the greatest civil qualifications may 
be found united with the highest military talents, is what no one will 
deny who thinks of Washington. But that such a combination is 
rare and extraordinary, the fame of Washington sufficiently attests. 
If it were common, why was he so illustrious ? 

I would ask, what did Cromwell, with all his military genius, do 
for England ? He overthrew the Monarchy, and he established Dic- 
tatorial power in his own person. And what happened next ? An- 
other soldier overthrew the Dictatorship, and restored the Monarchy 
The sword eflfected both. Cromwell made one revolution ; and Monk 
another. And what did the People of England gain l)y it I 
Nothing. Absolutely nothing ! The rights and liberties of English- 
men, as they now exist, were settled and established at the Revolution 
in 1688. Now, mark the difference ! By whom was that Revolu- 
tion begun and conducted ? Was it by soldiers ? by military 
genius ? by the sword ? No ! It was the work of statesmen and 
of eminent lawyers, — men never distinguished for military exploits 
The faculty — the dormant faculty — may have existed. That is what 
no one can affirm or deny. But it would have been thought an 
absurd and extravagant thing to propose, in reliance upon this possible 
dormant faculty, that one of those eminent statesmen and lawyers 
should be sent, instead of the Duke of Marlborough, to command the 
English forces on the Continent ! 

Who achieved the freedom and the independence of this our own 
country ? Wasliington efiected much in the field ; but where wee 
the Franklins, the Adamses, the Hancocks, the Jeffersons, and the 
fices, — the band of sages and patriots, whose memory we revere ? 
They were assembled in Council. The heart of the Revolution beat 
ii the Hall of Congress. There was the power which, beginning 
with appeals to the King and to the British Nation, at length made 
an irresistible appeal to the world, and consunnnated the Revolution 
by the Declaratioji of Independence, which Washington established 
with tneir authority, and, bearing- their commifisioa, supjiorted by 



326 THE STANDARD SPEAKER 

arms. And what has this band of patriots, of sagos, aui of states^ 
men, given to us ? Not what Caesar gave to Rome ; not what Croui' 
well gave to England, or Napoleon to France : they established for us 
the great principles of civil, political, and religious liberty, ujx>n tht 
strong foundations on which they have hitherto stood. There may 
have been military capacity in Congress ; but can any one deny that 
it is to the wisdom of sages, Washington being one, we are 
indebted for the signal blessings we enjoy ? 



176 OPPOSITION TO MISGOVEKNMENT, ISli. — Webster. 

All the evils which afflict the country are imputed to opposition. 
It is said to be owing to opposition that the war became necessary, and 
owing to opposition, also, that it has been prosecuted with no better 
success. This, Sir, is no new sti-ain. It has been sung a thousand 
times. It is the constant tune of every weak and wicked adminis- 
tration. What minister ever yet acknowledged that the evils which 
fell on his country were the necessary consequences of his own inca- 
pacity, his own folly, or his own corruption ? What possessor of 
political power ever yet fiviled to charge the mischiefs resulting from 
his own measures upon those who had uniformly opposed those meas- 
ures ? The people of the United States may well remember the 
administration of Lord North. He lost America to his country, yet 
he could find pretences for throwing the odium upon his opponents. 
He could throw it upon those who had forewarned him of conse- 
quences, and who had opposed him, at every stage of his disastrous 
policy, with all the force of truth, reason and talent. It was not his 
own weakness, his own ambition, his own love of arbitrary power, that 
disaffected the Colonies. It was not the Tea Act, the Stamp Act, 
the Boston Port Bill, that severed the empire of Britain. 0, no ! 
It was owing to no fault of Administration. It was the work of 
Opposition. It was the impertinent boldness of Chatham, the idle 
declamation of Fox, the unseasonable sarcasm of Barre. These men, 
and men like them, would not join the minister in his American war. 
They would not give the name and chai'acter of wisdom to what they 
believed to be the extreme of folly. They would not pronounce those 
measures iust and honorable which their principles led then) to con- 
demn. They declared the minister's war to be wanton. They fore« 
saw its end, and point-ed it out plainly, both to the minister and to the 
country. He declared their opposition to be selfish and factious. Ha 
persisted ir, his course ; and the result is in history. 

Important as I deem it, Sir, to discuss, on all proper occasions, tho 
policy of the measures at present pursued, it is still more imj/ortam 
to maintain the rigtit of such discussion in its full and just extent. 
Sentiments lately sprung up, and now gi'owing popular, render it 
oecessary to be explicit on this point. It is the ancient and constitu« 
cional light of this people to canvass public measures, and the Uierit* 



SENATORIAL. WEDSTEK. 32? 

of public men. It is a home-bred right, a fireside f'^vilege. It hai 
ever been enjoyed in every house, cottage and cabin, in tlie Natioa 
It is not to be drawn into controversy. It is as undoubted as the 
right of breathing the aii* and walking on the earth. Belonging to 
private life as a right, it belongs to public life as a duty ; and it is 
the last duty which tlwse whose representative I am shall find Die 
to abandon. This high constitutional privilege I shall defend and 
exercise within this House, and without this House, and in all places ; 
in time of war, in time of peace, and at all times. Living, I will 
assert it ; dying, I will assert it ; and, should I leave no other legacy to 
my children, by the blessing of God I will leave them the inheritance 
of free principles, and the example of a manly, independent, an(' 
constitutional defence of them ! 



177 MORAL FORCE AGAINST PHYSICAL, Jan. 19, 1823. — JVebsler. 

The time has been, Sir, indeed, when fleets, and armies, and sub 
sidles, were the principal reliances, even in the best cause. But, hap 
pily for mankind, there has come a great change in this respect. 
Moral causes come into consideration, in proportion as the progress o\ 
kaowledge is advanced ; and the public opinion of the civilized world 
is rapidly gaining an ascendency over mere brutal force. It is already 
able to oppose the most formidable obstruction to the progress of 
injustice and oppression ; and, as it grows more intelligent, and more 
intense, it will be more and more formidable. It may be silenced by 
military power, but it cannot be conquered. It is elastic, irrepress- 
ible, and invulnerable to the weapons of ordinary rirfare. It is that 
impassable, uuextinguishable enemy of mere violence and arbitrary 
rule, which, like Milton's angels, 

" Vital in every part, 
Cannot, out by annihilating, die." 

Until this be propitiated or satisfied, it is in vain for power to talk 
either of triumphs or of repose. No matter what fields are desolated, 
what fortresses surrendered, what armies subdued, or what provinces 
overrun. In the history of the year that has passed by us, and in 
the instance of unhappy Spain, we have seen the vanity of all tri- 
umphs, in a cause which violates the general sense of justice of the 
civilized world. It is nothing that the troops of France have passed 
from the Pyrenees to Cadiz ; it is nothing that an unhappy and pros- 
trate Nation has fallen before them ; it is nothing that arrests, and 
confiscation, and execution, sweep away the little remnant of national 
existence. There is an enemy that still exists, to check the glory of 
these triumphs. It follows the conqueror back to the very scene of 
his ovations ; it calls upon him to take notice that Europe, though 
silent, is yet indignant ; it shows hhn that the sceptre of his victory 
U a barren sceptre, — that it shall confer neither joy nor honor, nm 
shall moulder to dry a^hes in his grasp. In the midst of his exiu^A 



t^S raJi dTANDARD SPEAKER. 

iion, it pierce^ his ear with the cry of injured justice ; h denounoa 
against him the indignation of an enlightened and civilized age : it 
turns to bitterness the cup of his rejoicing, and wounds him with thf 
sting which belongs to the consciousness of having outraged tht 
opinions of mankind. 

178. SYMPATHY Wmi SOUTH-AMERICAN REPUBLICANISM, 1826. — /reiitsc 

"We are told that the country is deluded and deceived by cabalistid 
words. Cabalistic words ! If we express an emotion of pleasure at 
the results of this great action of the spirit of political liberty ; if we 
rejoice at the birth of new republican Nations, and express our joy by 
the common terms of regard and sympathy ; if we feel and signify 
high gratification, that, throughout this whole Continent, men are now 
likely to be blessed by free and popular institutions ; and if, in the 
uttering of these sentiments, we happen to speak of sister Republics, 
of the gi-eat American family of Nations, or of the political systems 
and forms of Government of this hemisphere, — then, indeed, it seems, 
we deal in senseless jargon, or imjxise on the judgment and feeling of 
the community by cabalistic words ! Sir, what is meant by this ? Is 
it intended that the People of the United States ought to be totally 
indifferent to the fortunes of these new neighbors ? Is no change, in 
the lights in which we are to view them, to be wrought, by their hav- 
ing thrown off ibreign dominion, established independence, and insti- 
tuted, on our ver-y borders, republican Governments, essentially after 
Dur own example ? 

Sir, I do not ?/^ish to overrate — I do not overrate — the progress 
of these new States, in the great work of establishing a well-secured 
popular liberty. I know that to be a great attainment, and I know 
they are but pupils in the school. But, thank God, they are in the 
school ! They are called to meet difficulties such as neither we nor 
our fathers encountered. For these we ought to make large allow- 
mces. What have we ever known like the colonial vassalage of these 
States ? Sir, we sprang from another stock. We belong to another 
race. We have known nothing — we have felt nothing — of the 
political despotism of Spain, nor of the heat of her fires of intolerance. 
No rational man expects that the South can run the same rapid career 
as the North, or that an insurgent province of Spain is in the same 
condition as the English Colonies when they first asserted their inde- 
pendence. There is, doubtless, much more to be done in the first thae 
in the last case. But, on that account, the honor of the attempt is 
not less ; and, if all difficulties shall be, in time, surmounted, it will ht 
greater. The work may be more arduous, — it is not less noble — 
because there may be more of ignorance to enlighten, more of bigotry 
to Bubdue, more of prejudice to eradicate. If it be a weakness t/) feel 
i strong interest in the success of these great revolutions, I confess 
myself guilty of that weakness. If it be weak to feel that I am an 
.\aierioan, — to think that recent events have not only opened no* 



SENATORIAL. WEBSTER. 82S 

modes of intercourse but have created, also, new grounds of regard 
»nd .sympathy, between our.'sclves and our neighbors ; if it be weak to 
tcel that the South, in her present state, is somewhat more emjihati- 
cally a part of America than when she lay, obscure, oppressed, and 
unknown, under the grinding bondage of a foreign power ; if it be weak 
to rejoice wnen, even in any corner of the earth, human beings are able 
to get up from beneath oppression, — to erect themselves, and to enjoy 
the proper happiness of their intelligent nature. - »i' this be wrak, it is 
% weakness from which I claim no exemption. 



179. HATRED OF THE POOR TO THE RICH, 1834. — IFebste/ 

Sir, I see, in those vehicles which carry to the People sentiments 
from high places, plain declarations that the present controversy is but 
a strife between one part of the community and another. I hear it 
boasted as the unfailing security, — the solid ground, never to be 
shaken, — on which recent measures rest, that the poor naturally hate 
the rich. I know that, under the shade of the roofs of the Capitol, 
within the last twenty-four hours, among men sent here to devise 
means for the public safety and the public good, it has been vaunted 
foith, as matter of boast and triumph, that one cause existed, ]X)werful 
enough to support everything and to defend everything, and that was, 
— the natural hatred of the poor to the rich. 

Sir, I pronounce the author of such sentiments to be guilty of 
attempting a detestable fraud on the community; a double fraud, — 
a fraud which is to cheat men out of their property, and out of the 
earnings of their labor, by first cheating them out of their understand- 
ings. 

" The natural hatred of the poor to the rich ! " Sir, it shall not 
be till the last moment of my existence ; — it shall be only when I am 
drawn to the verge of oblivion, — when I shall cease to have respect 
or affection for anything on earth, — that I will believe the people of 
the United States ca^Table of being effectually deluded, cajoled, and 
driven about in herds, by such abominable frauds as this. If they 
shall sink to that point, — if they so far cease to be men — thinking 
men, intelligent men — as to yield to such pretences and such clamor. 
— they will be slaves already ; slaves to their own passions, slaves to 
the fraud and knavery of pretended friends. They will deserve to Ix: 
blotted out of all the records of freedom. They ought not to dishonor 
the cause of self-government, by attempting any longer to exercise it 
They ought to keep their unworthy hands entirely off from the causa 
■of republican liberty, if tiiey are capable of being the victims of arti> 
flees so shallow, — of tricks so stale, so threadbare, so often practised, 
w much worn out, on serfs and slaves. 

" The natural hatred of the poor against the rich .' " " The dangoj 
jf a moneyed aristocracy ! ' "A power as gr?at and dangerous as that 
»«sisted by the ilevolution ' "A call to a new Declaration ol Indev 
peadenoe ! ' 



S30 TIIE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

Sii, 1 adii.\>nish the People against the objects uf outci'ies like these 
1 admonish every inaistrious .aoorer in the country to be on his> guard 
against such delusions. I tell him the attempt is to play off hi? pas- 
eions against his interests, and to prevail on him, ic the name of liV-erty 
to destroy all the fruits of liberty ; in the name of patriotism, to injurs 
and afflict his country ; and in the name of his own independence, to 
destroy that very independence, and make him a beggar and a slave S 



180. ON SUDDEN POLITICAL CONVERSIONS, 1838. - IVebster. 

Mr. President, public men must certainly be allowed to cnango 
their opinions, and their associations, whenever they see fit. No one 
doubts this. Men may have grown wiser, — they may have attained 
to better and more correct views of great public subjects. Neverthe- 
less, Sir, it must be acknowledged, that what appears to be a sudden, 
as well as a great change, naturally produces a shock. I confess, for 
one, I was shocked, when the honorable gentleman,* at the last session, 
espoused this billt of the Administration. Sudden movements of the 
affections, whether personal or political, are a little out of nature. 

Several years ago, Sir, some of the wits of England wrote a mock 
play, intended to ridicule the unnatural and false feeling — the senti- 
mentahti, — of a certain German sc4iool of literature. In this play, 
two strangers are brought together at an inn. While they are wai'm- 
ing themselves at the lire, and before their acquaintance is yet five 
minutes old, one springs up, and exclaims to the other, " A sudden 
thought strikes me ! — Let us swear an eternal fritndship ! " 

This affectionate offer was instantly accepted, and tiie friendship duly 
sworn, unchangeable and eternal ! Now, Sir, how lor^g this eternal 
friendship lasted, or in what manner it ended, those who w'sh to kno\r 
may learn by referring to the play. But it seems to me, Sir, that th^ 
honorable member has carried his political sentimentality a tnod dea' 
higher than the flight of the German school ; for he appear^ >'o havi 
fallen suddenly in love, not with strangers, but with opponents. Her. 
we all had been. Sir, contending against the progress of Exceutiv 
power, and more particularly, and most strenuously, against the proj 
acts and experiments of the Administration upon the currency. Th/ 
honorable member stood among us, not* only as an associate, but as t 
leader. We thought we were making some headway. The People 
appeared to be coming to our support and our assistance. The country 
aad been roused ; every successive election weakening the strength of the 
^versiivy, and increasing our own. We were in this career cf succet-», 
©arried strongly forward by the current of public opinion, and only 
aeeded to hear the cheering voice of the honorable member, — 
" Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more ! " 

and we should have prostrated, forever, this anti-constitutional, antv 

sonimercial, anti-republi<?an, and anti- American policy of the AdDiiniS" 

tratica But, instead of these encouraging and animating accents 

• Mr. Calhoun. f Tlie Sub-treasury bill 



SENATORIAL. WEBSTEit. 66^ 

aehcld .' in the very crisis of our affairs, on the very eve of victory 
the honDrable member cries out to the enemy, — not to us, hii 
allies, buc to tlie enemy, — " Holloa ! a sudden thought strikes me 
— 1 abandon my allies ! Now I think of it, they have always been raj 
oppressors ! I abandon them ; and now let you and me swear an etei 
nal lriund.ship ! " 

Such a proposition, from such a quarter, Sir, was not likely to -X 
long withstood. The other party was a little coy, but, upon the whole, 
nothing Inath. After proper hesitation, and a little decorous blushing, 
vt owned the soft impeachment, admitted an etjually sudden sympa 
thetic inipidse on it-s own side ; and, since few words are wanted where 
hearts are already known, the honorable gentleman takes his jtlao* 
among his new friends, amidst greetings and caresses, and is already 
enjoying the sweets of an eternal friendship. 



181. THE PLATFORM OF THE CONSTITUTION, 1838. — fTetetCT-. 

A PRixciPAL object, in his late political inovements, the gentle- 
man himself tells us, was to unite the entire South ; and against whom, 
or against what, docs he wish to unite the entire South ? Is not this 
the very essence of local feeling and local regard ? Is it not the 
acknowicdgmeut of a wish and object to create political strength, by 
uniting political opinions geographically ? While the gentleman wishes 
to unite the entire South, I pray to know, Sir, if he expects me to turn 
toward the polar-star, and, acting on the same principle, to utter a cry 
of Rally ! to the whole North ? Heaven forbid ! To the day of my 
death, neither he nor others shall hear such a cry from me. 

Finally, the honorable member declares that he shall now march off, 
under the banner of State rights I March off from whom ? March 
off from what ? We have been contending for great principles. We 
have been struggling to maintain the liberty and to restore the prosper- 
ity of the country ; we have made these struggles here, in the national 
councils, with the old flag — the true American flag, the Eagle and the 
Stars anil Stripes — waving over the Chaniber in which we sit. He uow 
tells us, however, that he marches off under the State-rights banner ! 

Let him go. I remain. I am, where I ever have been, and ever 
mean to be. Here, standing on the platform of the general Constitu- 
tion, — a platform broad enough, and firm enough, to uphold every 
interest of the whole country, — I shall still be found. Intrusted with 
some part in the administration of that Constitution, I intend to act in 
Its spirit, and in the spirit of those who framed it. Yes, Sir. I would 
ftct 1^ if our fathers, who formed it for us, and who bequeathed it to 
Ud, wsre looking on me, — as if I could see their venerable foiJis, 
beading do^vn to behold us from the abodes above ! I would act, too. 
ES if the eye of posterity was gazing on me. 

Standing thus, as in the full gaze of our ancestors and our posterity 
having received this inheritance from the former to be transmitted to 
the latter, and feeling that, if I am born for any good, in my day and 
generation, it Is for the good of ihe wuole couniry, — ^lu local ptili-'y, ua 



B32 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

iocal fiielirijf, no temporar} impulse, shall induce n'je to yieJd my foot- 
hold on the Constitution and the Union. I move off under no banne* 
aot known to the whole American I*eople, and to their Constitutioa 
tad laws. No, Sir ! these walls, these columns 

•'fly 
From their firm base a.? xon as I." 

I came into public life, Sir, in the service of the United States Oo 
that broad altar my earliest and all my public vows have been mada 
I propose to serve no other master. So far as depends on any agency 
of mine, they shall continue united States ; — united in interest and 
in affection ; united in everything in regard to which the Constitutioc 
has decreed their union ; united in war, for the common defence, the 
common renown, and the common glory ; and united, compacted, linit 
firmly together, in peace, for the common prosperity and happiness of 
ourselves and our children ! 



1S2. KESISTANCE TO OPPRESSION IN ITS •KUTHWEHIS.. — DaniU WebsUr 

Every encroachment, great or small, is important enough to awaken 
the attention of those who are intrusted with the preservation of a 
Constitutional Government. We are not to wait till great public 
mischiefs come, till the government is overthrown, or liberty itself put 
in extreme jeopardy. We should not be worthy sons of our fathers, 
were we so to regard great questions affecting the general freedom 
Those fathers accomplished the Revolution on a strict question of prin- 
ciple. The Parliament of Great Britain asserted a right to tax the 
Colonies in all cases whatsoever ; and it was precisely on this question 
that they made the Revolution turn. The amount of taxation was 
trifling, but the claim itself was inconsistent with liberty ; and that 
was, in their eyes, enough. It was against the recital of an act of 
Parliament, rather than against any suffering under its enactments, 
that they took up arms. They went to war against a preamble. They 
fought seven years against a declaration. They poured out their 
treasures and their blood like water, in a contest, in opposition to an 
assertion, which those less sagacious and not so well schooled in the 
principles of civil liberty would have regarded as barren phraseology, 
or mere parade of words. They saw in the claim of the British Par- 
liament a seminal principle of mischief, the germ of unjust power ; 
they detected it, di'agged it forth from underneath its plausible dis- 
guises, struck at it, nor did it elude either their steady eye, or their 
well-directed blow, till they had extirpated and destroyed it, to the 
Bmallest fibre. On this question of principle, while actual suffering 
^ras yet afar off, they raised their flag against a power to which, foi 
p irposcfe of foreign conquest and subjugation, Rome, in the height ot 
11 sr glory, is not to be compared ; a power which has dotted over thfl 
surface of the wliole globe with her possessions and military posts 
whose morning drum-beat, following the sun, and keeping companj 
vith the hours, circles the earth daily with one continuous ani 
Jubroken stram of the martial airs of England, 



«E:-.ATOft,AL. WEBSTEK. <W5 

183. PEACEABLE SECESSION, 1850. — JFe6s<er. 

Sm, be who sees these States now revolving in harmony around a 
somnioii centre, and expects to see them quit their places and fly off 
mthout convulsion, may look the next hour to see the heavenly bodies 
rush from their spheres, and jostle against each other in the realms of 
ipace, without causing the crush of the universe. There can be no 
puch thing as a peaceable secession. Peaceable secession is an utter 
impossibility. Is the great Constitution under which T\-e live, covering 
this whole country, is it to be thawed and melted away by secession, 
as the snows on the mountain melt under the influence of a vernal sun, 
disappear almost unobserved, and run ofi'? No, Sir ! No, Sir ! I will 
Lot state what might produce the disruption of the Union : but. Sir, I 
Bee, as plainly as I see the sun in Heaven, what that disruption itself 
must produce ; I see that it miLst produce war, and such a war as I 
will not describe, in its two-fold character. 

Peaceable secession ! — peaceable secession ! The concurrent agree- 
ment of all^the members of this great Republic to separate ! A vol- 
untary separation, with dlimony on one side and on the other. Why, 
what would be the result ? Where is the line to be drawn ? What 
States are to secede ? What is to remain American ? What am I to 
be ? An American no longer ? Am I to become a sectional man, a 
local man, a separatist, with no country in common with the gentle- 
men who sit around me here, or who fill the other House of Congress ? 
Heaven forbid ! Where is the flag of the Ptepublic to remain ? Where 
is the eagle still to tower ? — or is he to cower, and shrink, and fall to the 
ground ? Why, Sir, our ancestors — our fathers and our grandfathers, 
those of them that are yet living amongst us, with prolonged lives — 
would rebuke and reproach us ; and our children and our grandchildren 
would cry out shame upon us, if we, of this generation, should dis- 
honor these ensigns of the power of the Government and the harmony 
of chat Union, which is every day felt among us with so much joy and 
gratitude. What is to become of the army ? What is to become of 
the navy ? What is to become of the public lands ? How is any oue 
of the thirty States to defend itself? 

Sir, we could not sit down here to-day, and draw a line of separa- 
tion that would satisfy any five men in the country. There are natu- 
ral causes that would keep and tie us together ; and there are social 
and domestic relations which we could not break if we would, and 
"vhiah we should not if we could. 



1S4. ON MR. CLAY'S KESOLUTIONS, March 7, \?,ia. — Webster. 

And now, Mr. President, instead of speaking of the possibility or 
itility of secession, instead of dwelling in these caverns of dai'kness, 
instead of groping with those ideas so full of all that is horrid and 
horrible, let us come out into th6 light of day ; let us enjoy the fresh 
air of Liberty and Union ; let us cherish thofte hopes which belong to 
as ; lot us devote ourselves to those great objects that are fit i'cr our 



384 THE 8T>JIT)AKD SPEAKliK. 

eonsiderat.ir«n and o ir action ; let us raise our conceptions to tbe mag- 
nicude and the .'mportance of the duties that devolve upon us ; let oul 
eomprehension oe as broad as the country for which we act, our aspira« 
tions as high as its certain destiny ; let us not be pigmies in a case 
that calls for men. Never did there devolve on any generation of men 
higher trusts than now devolve upon us, for the preservation of this 
Constitution, and the harmony and peace of all who are destined to live 
under it. Let us make our generation one of the strongest and bright* 
est links in that golden chain, which is destined, I fondly believe, to 
grapple the People of all the States to this Constitution for ages to 
come. 

We have a great, popular, constitutional Government, guarded by 
law and by judicature, and defended by the whole affections of the 
People. No monarchical throne presses these States together ; no iron 
chain of military power encircles them ; they live and stand upon a 
Grovernment popular in its form, representative in its character, founded 
apon principles of equality, and so constructed, we hope, as to last for- 
ever. In all its history it has been beneficent ; it has trodden down 
tio man's liberty, — it has crushed no State. Its daily respiration is 
liberty and patriotism ; its yet youthful veins are full of enterprise, 
eourage, and honoi-able love of glory and renown. Large before, the 
country has now, by recent events, become vastly larger. This Repub- 
lic now extends, with a vast breadth, across the whole Continent. The 
two great seas of the world wash the one and the other shore. We 
realize, on a mighty scale, the beautiful description of the ornamental 
edging of the buckler of Achilles, — 

" Now the broad shield complete, the artist crowned 
With his last hand, and poured the ocean round : 
In living silver seeiued the waves to roll, 
And beat the buckler's verge, and bound the whole." 



185. JUSTICE TO THE WHOLE COUNTRY, July 17, 1S50.— Webster 

I THINK, Sir, the country calls upon us loudly and imperatively to 
settle this question. I think that the whole world is looking to see 
whether this great popular Government can get through such a crisis. 
We are the observed of all olDservers. It is not to be disputed or 
doubted, that the eyes of all Christendom are upon us. We have 
stood through many trials. Can we stand through this, which takes 
so much the character of a sectional controversy? Can we stand that? 
There is no inquiring man in all Europe who does not ask himself that 
question every day, when he reads the intelligence of the morning. 
Can this country, with one set of interests at the South, and another 
«et of interests at the North, — these interests supposed, but falsely sup 
[josed, to be at variance, — can this People see, what is so evident to the 
whole world beside, that this Union is their main hope and greatest 
benefit, and that their interests are entirely compatible ? Can they 
see, and will they feel, that thjir prci«perity, their resoectabilif y amopg 



Sl!:NATOKI\L. — ffKBSTER. 3Sb 

the Nal ons of tae 3arth, and their happiness at home, depe»"i>l upo 
the nia'.ntenance of thoir Union anil their Constitution ? That 13 the 
question. I agree that local divisions are apt to overturn the under- 
standings of men, and to excite a belligerent feeling between section 
and section. It is natural, in times of irritation, for one part of tbfl 
country to say, if you do that I will do this, and so get up a feeling 
of hostility and defiance. Then comes belligerent legislation, and then 
an appeal to arms. The question is, whether we have the true patri- 
otism, the x^mericanisni, necessary to carry us through such a triaL 
The whole world is looking towards us, with extreme anxiety. 

For myself, I propose, Sir, to abide by the principles and the pur- 
poses which I have avowed. I shall stand by the Union, and by all 
who stand by it. I shall do justice to the whole country, according 
to thp best of my ability, in all I say, — and act for the good of the 
whole country in all I do. I mean to stand upon the Constitution. 
I need no other platform. I shall know but one country. The ends 
I aim at shall be my country's, my God'&, and Truth's. I was born 
an American ; I live an American ; I shall die an American ; and I 
intend to perform the duties incumbent upon me in that character to 
the end of my career. I mean to do this, with absolute disregard of 
personal consequences. What are pei'sonal consequences ? What is 
the individual man, with all the good or evil that may betide him, in 
comparison with the good or exal which may beftiU a great country in 
a crisis like this, and in the midst of great transactions which concern 
that country's fate ? Let the consequences be what they will, I am 
careless. No man can suffer too much, and no man can fall too soon, 
if he suffer, or if he fall, in defence of the liberties and Constitution 
of his country ! 

186. MATCHES AND OVER-MATCHES, ISZO. — Webster. 

The followiriir passage, and otJiers by Mr. Webster which succeed it in this Department, are 
from his speeclies in reply to Mr. Hayne, of Suuth Carolina, m the Senate of the United States, 
January, 18:;0. This celebrated intellectual combat, between these distinguished men, grew out 
of a K'SiiluiiMii oilrrt'd by Mr. Foote, directing the committee on Public Lands to inquire into 
the (|u;ii]tiiy nf Uil- public lands remaining unsold, and other matters connected therewith. 
This i-csnluiiiiii :ilTMrdijd a text fora very irrelevant debate. Of the irrelevancy of Mr. Hayne's 
remarlis, .Mr. Webster said: "He has spoken of everything but the public lands. They have 
escaped his noiice. To that subject, in all his excursions, he has not even paid the cold respe'*' 
of a passing glauce." 

I AM not one of those, Sir, who esteem any tribute of regard, whethe* 
light and occasional, or more serious and deliberate, which may be 
beston'ed on others, as so much unjustly withholden from themselves?. 
But the tone and manner of the gentleman's question forbid me thus 
to interpret it. I am not at liberty to consider it as nothing more 
than a civility to his friend. It had an air of taunt and disparage- 
ment, a little of the loftiness of asserted superiority, which does no^ 
rtllow me to pass it over without notice. It was put as a question for 
me to answer, and so put as if it were difficult for me to answer, 
whether I deemed the member from Missouri an over-match for myself 
in debate hero. It seems to me, Sir, that this is extraordinary laii- 
Euage, and an extraordinary tone, for tho discussions of this body. 



.136 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

Matches and o^■er-n^atcbes ! Those terms are more applicable Asa 
where than here, and fitter for other assemblies than this. Sir, ih« 
gentleman seems to forget where and what we are. This is a Senate , 
a Senate of equals ; of men of individual honor and personal character, 
and of absolute independence. We know no masters ; we acknowledge 
£0 dictators. This is a Hall for mutual consultation and discussion , 
i>;i an arena for the exhibition of champions. I offer myself, Sir, a? 
a ?natch for no man ; I throw the challer ge of debate at no man's feet. 
B it, then. Sir, since the honorable member has put the question, in u 
m aimer that calls for an answer, I will give him an answer ; and 1 
te 11 him, that, holding myself to be the humblest of the members here, 
I yet know nothing in the arm of his friend from Missouri, either 
alone, or when aided by the arm of his friend from South Carolina, 
that need deter . even me from espousing whatever opinions I may 
choose to espouse, from debating whenever 1 may choose to debate, oi 
from speaking whatever I may see fit to say, on the floor of the Senate. 

Sir, when uttered as matter of commendation or compliment, I 
should dissent from nothing which the honorable member might say 
of his friend. Still less do I put forth any pretensions of my own. 
But, when put to me as matter of taunt, I throw it back, and say to 
the gentleman that he could possibly say nothing less likely than such 
a comparison to wound my pride of personal character. The anger 
of its tone rescued the remark from intentional irony, which, otherwise, 
probably, v.'ould have been its general acceptation. But, Sir, if it be 
imagined that, by this mutual quotation and commendation ; if it bs 
supjx)sed that, by casting the characters of the drama, assigning tc 
each his part, — to one, the attack ; to another, the cry of onset ; — or, 
if it be thought that, by a loud and empty vaunt of anticipated victory, 
any laurels are to be won here ; if it be imagined, especially, that anj 
or all these things shall shake any purpose of mine, — I can tell the 
honorable member, once for all, that he is greatly mistaken, and that 
he is dealing with one of whose temper and character he has yet much 
to learn. Sir, I shall not allow myself, on this occasion, — I hope on no 
occasion, — to be betrayed into any loss of temper; but if provoked, as I 
trust I never shall allow myself to be, into crimination and recrimi- 
nation, the honorable member may, perhaps, find that in that contest 
there will be blows to take, as well as blows to give ; that others can 
state comparisons as significant, at least, as his own ; and that his 
impunity may, perhaps, demand of him whatevi"ir powers of taunt and 
sarcasm he may possess. I commend 1 im to a prudent husbandry of 
his resources. 



187. SOUTH CAROLINA AND MASSACHUSETTS, 1S30 —Webster 

The euloglum pronounced on the character of the State of South 
Carolina, by the honorable gentleman, for her Revolutionary and othsi 
merits, meets my hearty concurrence. I shall not acknowledge tijat 
the hoDorable meml-er goes before me in regard for whatever of distin 



SENATORIAL. — \rFBSTEK. .S3"J 

fiishtfd talent or distinguished character Soutn Carolina has produced, 
eluii" part of the honor, I partake in the pride of her great names. 
I clain; them for countrymen, one and all. The Laurenses, the Rut^ 
'edges, the Pinckneys, the Suiupters, the Marions, — Americans, all, — 
whose fame is no more to be hemmed in by State lines, than their 
talents and patriotism were capable of being circumscribed within the 
^me narrow limits. In their day and generation, they served and 
honored the country, and the whole country ; and their renown is of 
the trea.surcs of the whole country. Him whose honored name the 
gentleman himself bears, — does he suppose me less capable of grati- 
tude for his patriotism, or sympathy for his sufferings, than if his eyes 
had fii-st opened upon the light in Massachusetts, instead of South 
Carolina? Sir, does he suppose it is in his power to exhibit a Care- 
liha name so bright as to produce envy in my bo8om ? No, Sir. 
increased gratification and delight, rather. 

Sir, I thank God, that, if I am gifted with little of the spirit which 
is said to be able to raise mortals to the skies, I have yet none, as 1 
trust, of that other spirit, which would drag angels down. When I 
shall be found, Sir, in my place here, in the Senate, or elsewhere, to 
sneer at public merit, because it happened to spring up beyond the 
little Umits of my own State or neighborhood; when I refuse, for 
any such caase, or for any cause, the homage due to American talent, 
to elevated patriotism, to sincere devotion to liberty and the country ; 
or, if I see an unconmion endowment of Reavon, — if I see extraor- 
dinary capacity and virtue in any son of the South, — and if, moved 
by local prejudice, or gangrened by State jealousy, I get up I'tere to 
abate the tithe of a hair from his just character and just fame, may 
my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth ! Sir, let me recur to 
pleasing recollections ; let me indulge in refreshing remembrance of 
the past ; let me remind you that, in early times, no States cherished 
greater harmony, both of principle and feeling, than Slassachusetts 
and South Carolina. Would to God that harmony might again 
return ! Shoulder to shoulder they went through the Kevolution , 
hand in hand they stood round the administration of Washington, avd 
felt his own great arm lean on them for supjx)rt. Unkind feeling, if 
it exist, w — alienation and distrust, — are the growth, unnatural to such 
soils, of false principles since sown. Tliey are weeds, the seeds of 
which ilvdt same great arm never scattered. 

Mr. President, I shall enter on no encomium upon Massachusetts; 
ah ! needs none. There she is, — behold her, and judge for yourselves. 
Tl.cre is her history, — the ' orld knows it by heart. The past at 
.c;ist, is secure. There is B .ston, and Concord, and J>exington, and 
Bunker Hill, — and there th y will remain forever. The bones of her 
sons, fallen in the great stru,,'gle for Independence, now lie mingled 
with the soil of every State from New England to Georgia, — and 
there they will lie forever. And, Sir, where American liberty raised 
its first voice, and where its youth wjus nurtured and sustriinrd. thert 
22 



£538 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

t still lives, in the strength of its manhood, and full of its origina 
spirit. If discord and disunion shall wound it, — if parly strife and 
blind ambition shall hawk at and tear it, — if folly and madness 
if luieasiness under salutary and necessary restraints, shall succeed to 
separate it from that Union by which alone its existence is mads 
sure, — it will stanO., in the end, by the side of that cradle in which its 
infancy was rocked; it will stretch forth its arm, with whatever vigor 
it may stiH retain, over the friends who gather round it ; and it will 
fall at last, n fall it must, amidst the proudest monuments of its own 
glory, and on the very spot of its origin ! 



188. LIBERTY AND tlNION, 1830. — WehsteT. 

I PROFESS, Sir, in my career hitherto, to have kept steadily in view 
the prosperity and honor of the whole country, and the preservation 
of our Federal Union. It is to that Union we owe our safety at 
home, and our consideration and dignity abroad. It is to that Union 
we are chiefly indebted for whatever makes us most proud of our 
country. That Union we reached only by the discipline of our 
virtues, in the severe school of adversity. It had its origin in the 
necessities of disordered finance, prostrate commerce, and ruined 
credit. Under its benign influences, these great interests immedi- 
ately awoke, as from the dead, and sprang forth with newness of life. 
Every year of its duration has teemed with fresh proofs of its utility 
and its blessings ; and although our territory has stretched out wider 
and wider, and our population spread further and further, they have 
not outran its protection, or its benefits. It has been to us all a copi- 
ous fountain of national, social, personal happiness. I have not 
allowed myself, Sir, to look beyond the Union, to see what might lie 
hidden in the dark recess behind. I have not coolly weighed the 
chances of preserving liberty, when the bonds that unite us together 
shall be broken asunder. I have not accustomed myself to hang 
over the precipice of disunion, to see whether, with my short sight, I 
can fathom the depth of the abyss below ; nor could I regard him as 
a safe counsellor in the affairs of this Government whose thoughts 
should be mainly bent on considering, not how the Union should be 
[jest preserved, but how tolerable might be the conditirn of the 
People when it shall be broken up and destroyed. 

While the Union lasts, we have high, exciting, gratifying prospect* 
jjiread out before us, for us and our children. Beyond that I seek 
act to penetrate the veil. God grant that, in my day, at least, that 
mrtain may not rise ! God grant that on my \'ision never may lie 
apened what lies behind ! When my e^ -is siiall be turned to behold, 
for the last time, the Sun in Heaven, may I not see him shining on 
'.he broken and dishonored fragments of a once glorious Union ; os 
:>&tes severed, discordant, belligerent ; on a land rent with civil fcudi*,. 
■? drenched. \\ may be, in fraternal blood! Let their last feeb'e vtxid 



SENATORIAL. — HAYXE. 339 

5ng' -.rig glanct rather, behold the gorgeous Ensigu of the llopublic, 
now known and honored throughout the earth, still full high advanced, 
its arms and trophies streaming in their original lustre, not a stripe 
erased or polluted, nor a single star obscured, — bearing, for its motto, 
QO such miserable inteiTOgatory as — W/iat is all this worth''} — nor 
those other words of delusion and folly — Liberty first and Union 
afterwards, — but everywhere, spread all over in characters of living 
light, blazing on all its ample folds, as they float over the sea and 
over the laml, and in every wind under the whole Heavens, that other 
sentiment, dear to every true American heart — Liberty and Union, 
DOW and foi'cver, one and inseparable ! 



189. ON MR. WKBSTKR'S DEFENCE OF NEW ENGLAND, Jan. 21, 1830. - Hayne. 

Robert Y. Payne was born near Cliarleston, S. C, Nov. 10, 1791, and died Sept. 24, 1839 
He attained jfreat distinction at the bar, and received tlie higliest honors in tlie t,'ift of his 
native State. He was fluent and graceful in speech, and was esteemed one of the most eloquent 
oien of liis time. 

The hrnorable gentleman from Massachusetts, after deliberating a 
whole nij'ht upon his course, comes into this chamber to vindicate New 
England ; ancl, instead of making up his issue with the gentleman 
from Missouri, on the charges which he had preferred, chooses to 
consider me as the author of these charges ; and, losing sight entirely 
of that gentleman, selects me as his adversary, and pours out all the 
vials of his mighty wrath upon my devoted head. Nor is he willing 
to stop there. He goes on to assail the institutions and policy of the 
South, and calls in question the principles and conduct of the State 
which I have the honor to repi-esent. When I find a gentleman of 
mature age and experience, of acknowledged talents, and profound 
sagacity, pursuing a.course like this, declining the contest offered from the 
West, and making war upon the unoffending South, I rrmst believe — 
I am bound to believe — he has some olDJect in view which he has not 
ventured to disclose. Mr. President, why is this ? Has the gentle- 
uian discovered, in former controversies with the gentleman from Mis- 
souri, that he is over-matched by that Senator? And does he hope 
for an easy victory over a more feeble adversary Has the gentle- 
man's distempered fancy been disturbed by gloomy forebodings of 
" new alliances to be formed," at which he hinted ? Has the ghost 
of the murdered Coalition come back, like the ghost of Banquo, to 
'' sear the eye-balls of the gentleman," and will it not "down at lis 
bidding " ? Are dark visions of broken hopes, and honors lost for- 
ever, still floating before his heated imagination ? Sir, if it be his 
abject to thrust me between the gentleman from Missouri and himself, 
m order to rescue the East from the contest it has provoked with the 
West, he shall not be gratified. Sir, I will not be dragged into the 
lefcnce of my friend from ]Missouri. The South shall not he forced 
into a conflict not its own. The gentleman from Misscari is able to 
fight bis own battles The gallant West needs no aii from the South 



340 THE STAND AKD SPEAKER. 

to repel any attack \\^hich may be made on them from any quartej 
L.et the gentleman from Massachusetts controvert the facts and argij. 
nients of the gentleman from Missouri, if he can ; and, if he win the 
victory, let him wear the honors. I shall not deprive him of his 
laurels. 



ISO. THE SOUTH DURING THE REVOLUTION. - Hayne, 1830. 

If there be one State in the Union, Mr. President (and I say it 
not in a boastful spirit), that may challenge comparisons with any 
other, for an uniform, zealous, ardent, and uncalculating devotion tc 
the Union, that State is South Carolina. Sir, from the very com- 
mencement of the Revolution, up to this hour, there is no sacrifice, 
however great, she has not cheerfully made, — no service she has ever 
hesitated to perform. She -has adhered to you in your prosperity ; 
but in your adversity she has clung to you with more than filial affec- 
tion. No matter what was the condition of her domestic afl&xirs, — 
though deprived of her resources, divided by parties, or surrounded 
with difficulties, — the call of the country has been to her as the voice 
r^f God. Domestic discord ceased at the sound; every man became 
at once reconciled to his brethren, and the sons of Carolina, were all 
seen crowding together to the temple, bringing their gifts to the altar 
of their common country. 

What, Sir, was the conduct of the South during the Revolution 1 
Sir, I honor New England for her conduct in that glorious struggle. 
But, great as is the praise which belongs to her, I think at least equal 
honor is due to the South. They espoused the quarrel of their 
brethren, with a generous zeal, which did not suffer them to stop tc 
calculate their interest in the dispute. Favorites of the mother 
country, possessed of neither ships nor seamen to create a commercial 
rivalship, they might have found in their situation a guarantee that 
their trade would be forever fostered and protected by Great Britain 
But, trampling on all considerations either of interest or of safety 
they rushed into the conflict, and, fighting for principle, perilled all, vo 
the sacred cause of freedom. Never was there exhibited, in the his- 
tory of the world, higher examples of noble daring, dreadful sufferinc- 
and heroic endurance, than by the Whigs of Carolina, during thp 
Revolution. The whole State, from the mountains to the sea, wai 
overrun by an overwhelming force of enemy. The fruits of industry 
perished on the spot where they were produced, or were consumed by 
the foe. The " plains of Carolina " drank up the most precious blood 
of her citizens. Black and smoking ruins marked the places which 
had been the habitations of her children ! Driven from their homes, 
into the gloomy and almost impenetrable swamps, even there the 
spirit of liberty survived; and South Carolina, sustained by the 
example of her Sumpters and her Marions, proved, by her conduct, 
that though her soil might be overrun, the spirit of lier People wai 
Ji vincible. 



SENATORIAL — IlArNfi. 54.) 

m. THE SOUTH DURING THE WAR OF 1812. — ffay»c 030 

J COME now to the war of 1812, — a war which, I well remeiuber, 
was called, in derision (while its event was doubtlul), the Southern 
war, and sometimes the Carolina war; hut which i.s now universally 
acknowledged to have done more lor the honor and prosperity of the 
country than all other events in our history put together. 'What, Sir, 
were the objects of that war ? " Free trade and sailors' rights ! " It 
was for the protection of Northern shipping, and New England sea- 
aicn. that the country flew to arms. What interest had the South in 
that contest ? If they had sat down coldly to calculate the value of 
their interests Involved in it, they would have found that they had 
everything to lose, and nothing to gain. Bat, Sir, with that generous 
devotion to country so characteristic of the South, they only asked if 
the rights of any portion of their fellow-citizens had been invaded ; 
and when told that Northern i:uij<s and New England seamen had been 
arrested on the common high-si/ay of Nations, they felt that the honor 
of their eoantry was assiided;" ?.:xi. dieting on that exdted sentiment 
" which feels a stain like a w./m.;'.)," they resolved to seek, in open war, 
for a redress of those injuries which it did not become freemen to 
endure. Sir, the whole South, animated as by a common impulse, 
cordially united in declaring and promoting that war. South Carolina 
sent to your councils, as the advocates and supportei's of that war, the 
noblest of her sons. How they fulfilled tliat trust, let a gratefid 
country tell. Not a measure was adopted, not a battle fought, not a 
victory won, which contributed, in any degree, to the success of that 
war, to which Southern councils and Southern valor did not largely 
contribute. Sir, since South Carolina is assailed, I must be sufi'ered 
to speak it to her praise, that, at the very moment: when, in one 
quarter, we heiird it solemnly proclaimed " that it did not become a 
religious and moral People to rejoice at the victories of our Army or 
our Navy," her Legislature unanimously 

" Resolved, That we will cordially support the Government in tha 
vigorous prosecution of the war, until a peace can be obtained on honor- 
able terms ; and we will cheerfully subnat to every privation that may- 
be required of us, b}" our Government, for the accomplishment of thig 
object." 

South Carolina redeemed that pledge. She threw open her Treafc 
ury to the Government. She put at the absolute disposal of tht 
officers of the United States all that she possessed, — her men, her 
money, and her arms. She appropriated half a million of dollars, on 
ner own account, in defence of her maritime frontier ; ordered a brig- 
ade of State troops to be raised ; and, when left to protect hei'self by 
her own means, never suffered the enemy to touch her soil, withom 
being instantly driven off or captured. Such, Sir, was the conduct of 
the South — such the conduct of my own State — in that dark hooi 

which tried n:en's souls! " 



$42 -IHB STAKJJAllD SPEAKER 

'92. DEFALCATION AND KETRENCHMENT, IS^S.—S. S. Prentiss. 3 ;81G ; «« IMS 

Since the avowal, Mr. Chairman, of that unprincipled and biirbariaj; 
motto, that " to the victors belong the spoils," office, vvhich was 
intended for the service and benefit of the People, has become but tht 
plunder of party. Patronage is waved like a huge magnet over the 
laiid ; and demagogues, like iron-filings, attracted by a law of theii 
Qature, gather and cluster around its poles. Never yet lived the 
demagogue who would not take ofiice. The whole frame of our Gov- 
trrmient — all the institutions of the country — are thus prostituted 
to the uses of party. Office is conferred as the reward of partisan 
service ; and what is the consequence ? The incumbents, being taught 
that all moneys in their possession belong, not to the People, but to 
the party, it requires but small exertion of casuistry to bring them to 
the conclusion that they have a right to retain what they may conceive 
to be the value of their political services, — just as a laA'yer holds back 
his commissions. 

Sir, I have given you but three or four cases of defalcations. 
Would time permit, I could give you a hundred. Like the fair 
Sultana of the Oriental legends, I could go on for a thousand and 
one nights ; and even as in those Eastern stories, so iii the chronicles 
of the office-holders, the tale would ever be of heaps of gold, massive 
ingots, uncounted riches. Why, Sir, Aladdin's wonderful lamp was 
nothing to it. They seem to possess the identical cap of Fortunatus. 
Some wish for fifty thousand dollars, some for a hundred thousand, 
and some for a million, — and behold, it lies in glittering heaps before 
them ! Not even 

" The gorgeous East^ with richest hand, 
Showers on her kings barbaric pearl and gold " 

in such lavish abundance, as does this Administration upon its fol* 
lowers. Pizarro held not forth more dazzling lures to his robber band, 
when he led them to the conquest of the " Children of the Sun." 

And now it is proposed to make up these losses through defaulters 
by retrenchment ! And what do you suppose are to be the subjects 
of this new and sudden economy ? What branches of the public 
service are to be lopped off, on account of the licentious rapacity of the 
office-holders ? I am too indignant to tell you. Look into the report 
of the Secretary of the Treasury, and you will find out. Well, Sir. 
what are they ? Pensions, harbors, and light-houses ! Yes, Sir ; these 
are recommended as proper subjects for retrenchment. First of all 
thy flcarred veterans of the Pvevolution are to be deprived of a portion of 
the scanty pittance doled out to them by the cold charity of the country. 
How many of them will you have to send forth as beggars on the very 
soil which they wrenched from the hand of tyranny, to make up the 
amount of even one of these splendid robberies ? How many harbors 
will it take, — those impi-ovements dedicated no less to humanity than 
to interest, — those nests of conmierce to which the canvas-winged 
birdp of the ocean flock for safety ? How many light-hous<\s will h 



SEXATOKIAL. NATlOlv 34^ 

biice V lloff many of those bright eyes of the c,«an are to be put 
out ? llow many of those faithful sentinels, who stand alr.ng our 
rocky coast, and, peering far out in the darkness, give timely warning 
*o the hardy mariner where the lee-shore threatens, — how many of 
these, r ask, are to be discharged from their humane service ? \\Txy, 
the proiKisition is almost impious ! I should as soon wish to put out the 
stars of Heaven ! Sir, my blood boils at die cold-blooded atrocity witk 
which the Administration proposes thus to cacrifice the very family 
jewels of the country, to pay for the consequences of its own profligacy ! 

193. AMERICAN LABORERS. — C. C. Nay tor. 

The Centle;nan, Sir, has misconceived the spirit and tendency of 
Northern institutions. He is ignorant of Northern character. He 
has forgotten the history of his country. Preach insurrection to thr 
Northern laborers ! Who are the Northern laborers ! The historj 
of your country is their history. The renown of your country is their 
renown. The brightness of their doings is emblazoned on its evei-y 
page. Blot from your annals the words and the doings of Northern 
laborers, and the history of your country presents but a universal 
blank. Sir, who was he that disarmed the Thunderer ; wrested from 
his grasp the bolts of Jove ; calmed the troubled ocean ; became the 
central sun of the philosophical system of his age, shedding his 
brightness and eftiilgence on the whole civilized world ; whom the 
great and mighty of the earth delighted to honor ; wlio participated 
in the achievement of your independence, prominently assisted in 
moulding your free institutions, and the beneficial effects of whose 
wisdom will be felt to the last moment of " recorded time " ? Who, 
Sir, I ask, was he ? A Northern laborer, — a Yankee tallow-chandler's 
son, — a printer's runaway boy ' 

And who, let me ask the honorable Gentleman, who was he that, 
in the days of our Revolution, led forth a Northern army, — yes, an 
army of Northern laborers, — and aided the chivalry of South Carolina 
in their defence against British aggression, drove the spoilers from 
their firesides, and redeemed her fair fields from foreign invaders < 
VVTio vras he ? A Northern laborer, a Rhode Island blacksmith, — the 
gallant General Greene, — who left his hammer and his forge, and 
went fortn conquering and to conquer in the battle for our independ- 
ence ! And will you preach insurrection to men like these ? 

Sir, our country is full of the achleveracnts of Northern laborers ! 
Where is Concord, and Lexington, and Princeton, and Trenton, and 
Saratoga, and Bunker Hill, but in the North ? And what, Sir, ua» 
fihed an imperishable renown on the never-dying names of thosf 
hallowed spots, but the blood and the struggles, the high iaring, and 
patriotism, and sublime courage, of Northern laborers ? The whoio 
North is an everlasting monument of the freedom, virtue T-telligeuje. 
and indomitable independence, of Northern lalorere! Go, Sir, go 
preach insurrection to men like these ' 



/J44 fHE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

The fijrtilude of the men of the North, under int(nse s-affering fiji 
Liberty's sake, has been almost god-like ! History has so recorded 
it Who comprised that gallant army, without food, without pay, 
shelterless, shoeless, penniless, and almost naked, in that dreadfu) 
winter, — the midnight of our Revolution, — whose wanderings could 
be traced by their blood-tracks in the snow ; whom no arts could 
seduce, no appeal lead astray, no suiFerings disaffect ; but who, true to 
their country and its holy cause, continued to fight the good fight of 
liberty, until it finally triumphed ? Who, Sir, were these men ! 
Why, Northern laborers! — yes. Sir, Northern laborers! Who, Sir, 

were Roger Sherman and . But it is idle to enumerate. Tc 

name the Northern laborers who have distinguished themselves, and 
illustrated the history of their country, would require days of the time 
of this House. Nor is it necessary. Posterity will do them jastice 
Their deeds have been recorded in characters of fire ! 



194. MERITS OP FULTON'S INVENTION, 1838. —Og-rfen Hoffman. 

This House and the world have been told that Robert Fulton was 
njt the inventor of steam navigation. England asserts that it is to a 
Scotchman that the honor of this discovery is due, and that it was the 
Clyde and the Thames that first witnessed the triumphant success of 
this wonderful invention. France, through her National Institute, 
declares that it was the Seine. Even Spain, degraded and enslaved, 
roused by the voice of emulation, has looked forth from her cloistered 
halls of superstition, and declared that in the age of Charles, in the 
presence of her Court and nobles, this experiment was successfully 
tried. But America, proudly seated upon the enduring monument 
which Fulton has reared, smiles at these rival claims, and, secure in 
her own, looks down serenely upon these billows of strife, which break 
at the base of her throne. 

But it has been denied, in this debate, that any other credit than 
that of good luck is due lo Fulton for his invention. Gentlemen would 
have us suppose that good luck is the parent of all that we admire in 
science or in arms. If this be so, why, then, indeed, what a bubble is 
reputation ! How vain and how idle are the anxious days and sleepless 
nights devoted to the service of one's country ! Admit this argument 
and you strip from the brow of the scholar his bay, and from those of 
the statesman and soldier their laurel. Whj do you deck with chapiets 
tlie statue of the Father of liis Country, if good luck, and good luck 
alone, be all that commends him to our gratitude and love ? A mem- 
ber of this House retorts, " Bad luck would have made Washington a 
traitor." Ay, but in whose estimation ? Did the great and holy 
principles which produced and governed our Revolution depend, foi 
their righteousness and truth, upon success or defeat ? Would Wash- 
ington, had he suffered as a rebel on the scaffold, — would Wasliington 
have been regarded as a traitor by Warren, and Hancock, and Greene 
»nd Hamilton, — by the crowd of pati-iots who encompassed hii^, part 



SENATORIAL. — CUSniNQ S45 

DOTS of hiri toil and sharers of his patriotism ' Was it good luck that 
impelled Coluiabus, through dLscouragenient, conspiracy and poverty, 
to persevere in his path of danger, until tiiis W'estern world blessed hia 
sight, and rewarded his energy and daring ? Does the gciitloraan 
emulate the glory of the third King of Home, Tullus Hostilius, — aud 
would lie erect in our own land a temple to Fortune ? It cannot be 
that he would scriou-sly promulgate such views ; — that he would take 
from human renown all that gives it dignity and worth, by making it 
depend less on the virtue of the individual than on his luck ! 



195. SECTIONAL SERVICES IN THE LAST -WAR.— Caleb Cushing. 

The gentleman from South Carolina taunts us with counting the 
costs of that war in which the liberties and honor of the country, and 
the interests of the North, as he asserts, were forced to go elsewhere 
for their defence. Will he sit down with me and count the cost now ? 
^Vill he reckon up how much of treasure the State of South Carolina 
expended in that war, and how much the State of Massachusetts ? — 
how much of the blood of either State was poured out on sea or land ? 
I challenge the gentleman to the test of patriotism, which the array 
roll, the navy lists, and the treasury books, afford. Sir, they who 
revile us for our opposition to the last war have looked only to the 
surface of things. They little know the extremities of suffering 
which the People of Massachusetts bore at that period, out of attach- 
ment to the Union, — their families beggared, their fathers and sons 
bleeding in camps, or pining in foreign prisons. They forget that not 
a field was marshalled, on this side of the mountains, in which the men 
of Massachusetts did not play their part, as became their sires, and 
their " blood fetched from mettle of war proof." They battled and 
bled, wherever battle was fought or blood drawn. 

Nor only by land. I ask the gentleman. Who fought your naval 
battles in the last war ? Who led you on to victory after victory, on 
the ocean and the lakes ? Whose was the triumphant prowess before 
which the Red Cross of England paled with unwonted shames ? Were 
they not men of New England ? Were these not foremost in those 
maritime encounters which humbled the pride and power of Great 
Britain ? I appeal to my colleague before me from our common county 
of brave old Essex, — I appeal to my respected colleagues from the 
«hores of the Old Colony. Was there a village or a handet on Massa» 
jhusetttS Bay, which did not gather its hardy seamen to man the gun- 
i'.^.ks of your shi ps of war ? Did they not rally to the bat+.le, as men 
dock to a feast ? 

I beseech the House to pardon me, if I may have kindled, on this 
•oibject, into something of unseendy ardor. I cannot sit tamely by, in 
numble acquiesceijt silence, when reflections, which I know to be 
unjust, are cast on the faith and honor of Massachusetts. Had I suf- 
fered them to pass without admonition, I should have deemed that the 
'iisembodied spirits of hei' deoarted children, from their ashes mingled 



346 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

tvilii the diist jf every stricken field of the Revolution, from theii 
,^ones mouldering to the consecrated earth of Bunker s Hill, of Saratoga, 
sf Monmouth, — would start up in visible shape before me, to cry shame 
on me, their recreant countryman ! Sir, 1 have roamed through th< 
world, to find hearts nowhere warmer than hers, soldiers nowhere 
braver, patriots nowhere purer, -wives and mothei'S nowhere truen 
maidens nowhere lovelier, green valleys and bright rivers nowhere 
greener or brighter ; and I will not be silent, when I hear her patriot 
ism or her truth questioned with so much as a whisper of detraction. 
Living, I will defend her ; dying, I would pause, in my last expiring 
breath, to utter a prayer of fond remembrance for my native New 
England ! 



198. BARBARITY OF NATIONAL KA'TU'EVS. ~ Rufus Choate 

Mr. President, we must distinguish a little. That there exists in 
this country an intense sentiment of nationality ; a cherished energetic 
feeling and consciousness of our independent and separate national 
existence ; a feeling that we have a transcendent destiny to fulfil, which 
we mean to fulfil ; a great work to do, which we know how to do, and 
are able to do ; a career to run, up which we hope to ascend, till we 
stand on the steadfast and glittering summits of the world ; a feeling, 
that we are surrounded and attended by a noble, historical group of 
competitors and rivals, the other Nations of the earth, all of whom we 
hope to overtake, and even to distance ; — such a sentiment as this 
exists, perhaps, in the character of this People. And this I do not dis- 
courage, I do not condemn. But, Sir, that among these useful and 
beautiful santiments, predominant among them, there exists a temper 
of hostility towards this one particular Nation, to such a degree as tu 
amount to a habit, a trait, a national passion, — to amount to a state 
of feeling which " is to be regretted," and which really threatens another 
war, — this I earnestly and confidently deny. I would not hear your 
enemy say this. Sir, the indulgence of such a sentiment by the People 
supposes them to have forgotten one of the counsels of Washington. 
Call to mind the ever seasonable wisdom of the Farewell Address : 
" The Nation which indulges towards another an habitual hatred, or 
an habitual fondness, is, in some degree, a slave. It is a slave to its 
animosity, or to its afi'ection, either )>(■ which is sufficient to lead it 
astray from lU duty and its interest." 

No, Sir ! no, Sir! We are above all this. Let the Highland clans- 
SfiViW, half naked, half civilized, half blinded by the peat-smoke of hia 
Kivern, have his hereditary enemy and his hereditary enmity, and 
keep the keen, deep, and precious hatred, set on fire of hell, alive, if he 
can ; lot the North American Indian have his, and hand it down from 
father to son, by Heaven knows what symbols of alligators, and rattle- 
gnakes, and war-clubs smeared with vermilion and entwined witi 
scarlet ; let such a country as Poland, — cloven to the earth, th« 
mnied heel on the radiant forehead, her body dead, her s( ul incapablfl 



SENATORIAL. CASS. 34T 

xt die — hit her renioniber the " wrongs of days long pa^t " let the 
lost and wandcriiig tribes of Israel reuicniber theirs — the manllDesh 
and the sympathy of the world may allow or pardon this to them ; — 
bul shal) America, young, free, prosperous, just setting out on the 
higiiway of Heaven, "decorating and cheering the elevated sphere she 
just begins to move in, glittering like the morning star, full of life and 
joy," shall she be supposed to be polluting and corroding her noble and 
happy heart, by moping over old stories of stamp act, and tea tax, and 
the firing of the Leopard upon the Chesapeake in a time of peace ? 
•V), Sir ! no. Sir! a thousand times, no! Why, I protest I thought 
nil that had been settled. I thought two wars had settled it all. What 
else was so much good blood shed for, on so many more than classical 
fields of Revolutionary glory ? For what was so much good blood more 
lately shed, at Lundy's Lane, at Fort Erie, before and behind the lines 
at New Orleans, on the deck of the Constitution, on the deck of the 
Java, on the lakes, on the sea, but to settle exactly these " wrongs of 
past days " ? And have we come back sulky and sullen from the very 
field of honor ? For my country, I deny it. 

Mr. President, let me say that, in my judgment, this notion of a 
national enmity of feeling towards Great Britain belongs to a past age 
of our history. My younger countrymen are unconscious of it. They 
disavow it. That generation in whose opinions and feelings the actions 
and the destiny of the next are unfolded, as the tree in the germ, 
do not at all comprehend your meaning, nor your fears, nor your 
regrets. We are born to happier feelings. We look to England as 
we look to France. We look to them, from our new world, — not 
unrenowned, yet a new \vorld still, — and the blood mounts to our 
cheeks ; our eyes swim ; our voices are stifled with emulousness of sc 
much glory ; their trophies will not let us sleep : but there is no 
hatred at all ; no hatred, — no barbarian memory of wrongs, for which 
brave men have made the last expiation to the brave. 

197. ON PRECEDENTS IN GOVERNMUNT, ISbl. — Lewi<i Cass. 

Mr. President, eloquent allusions have been made here to the 
ominous condition of Europe. zVnd, truly, it is suffii^ently threaten- 
ing to fix the regard of the rest of the civilized world. Elements are 
at work there whose contact and contest must, ere long, produce 
explosions whose consequences no man can foresee. The cloud may 
as yet be no bigger than a man's hand, like that seen by the prophet 
from Mount Carmel ; but it will overspread the whole hemisphere, an-i 
burst, perhaps in ruins, upon the social and political sj-stems of the 
Old World. Antagonistic principles are doing their work there. The 
conflict cannot be avoided. The desire of man to govern himself, and 
the determination of rulers to govern him, are now face to face, and 
must meet in the strife of action, as they have met in the strife of 
opinion. It requires a wiser or a rasher man than I am to undertaka 
to foretell when and how this great battle will be fought; but vt is af 



S48 THE STANDARD Sl-EAKEll. 

sure to eome as is the sun to rise again which is now d jscoiiding to ih« 
horizon. What the free Governments of the world may find it pi'opfct 
to do, when this great struggle truly begins, I leave to those upon 
whom will devolve the duty and the responsibility of decision. 

It has been well said that the existing generation stantis upon the 
Bhoulders of its predecessors. Its visual horizon is enlarged from ihi« 
elevation. We have the experience of those who have gone before us, 
End our own, too. We are able to judge for ourselves, without blindly 
following in their footsteps. There is nothing stationary in the world , 
Moral and intellectual as well as physical scie-nces are in a state of 
progress ; or, rather, we are marching onwards in the investigation of 
their true principles. It is presumptuous, at any time, to say that 
^^Notv is the best possible condition of human nature; let us sit still 
and be satisfied ; there is nothing more to learn," I believe in no such 
doctrine. I believe we are always learning. We have a right to 
examine for ourselves. In fact, it is our duty to do so. Still, Sir, I 
would not rashly reject the experience of the world, any more than 1 
would blindly follow it. I have no such idea. I have no wish to 
prostrate all the barriers raised by wisdom, and to let in upon us an 
inundation of many such opinions as have been pronmlgated in the 
present age. But far be it from me to adopt, as a principle of con- 
duct, that nothing is to be done except what has been done before, and 
precisely as it was then done. So much for precedents ! 



198. INTERVENTION IN THE WAKS OF EUROPE, 1852. — ^eremiaA C/«»jen«. 

Washington has said : " There can be no greater error than to 
flxpect or calculate upon any real favors from nation to nation. It is 
an illusion which experience must cure, and which a just pride ought 
to discard," There is a deep wisdom in this; and he who disregards, 
or treats it lightly, wants the highest attribute of a statesman. We 
can expect nothing as a favor from other nations, and none have a 
right to expect favors from us. Our interference, if we interfere at 
all, must be dictated by interest ; and, therefore, I ask, in what pos- 
sible manner can we be benefited ? Russia has done us no injury ; 
we have, therefore, no wrongs to avenge. Russia has no territory of 
which we wish to deprive her, and from her there is no danger against 
which it is necessary to guard. Enlightened self-interest does not 
offer a single argument in favor of embroiling ourselves in a quarrel 
svith her. So obvious, so indisputable, is this truth, that the advocates 
of " intervention " have based their speeches almost solely on the 
■re )und that we have a divine mission to perform, and that is, to strike, 
the manacles from the hands of all mankind. It may be, Mr. Presi- 
dent, that we have such a mission ; but, if so, " the time of its fulfil- 
ment is not yet." And, tor one, I prefer waiting for some clearer 
aianifestation of the Divine will. By attempting to fulfil it now, we* 
employ the surest means of disappointing that " manifest destiny " o 



erNVTORTAL. — W. R. SMITH. 849 

tvhicli we have heard so much. We have before us the certainty of 
mflicting deep injury upon ourselves, without the slightest prospect of 
benefiting others. 

Misfortunes may come upon us all ; dishonor attaches only to the 
unworthy. A nation may be conquered, trodden down, — her living 
sons in chains, her dead the prey of vultures, — and still leave a 
bright example, a glorious histoiy, to after times. But when folly and 
wickedness have ruled the hour, — when disaster is the legitijnate child 
of error and weakness, — the page that records it is but a record of 
infamy and pity for misfortune becomes a crime against justice. Sir 
[ do not love that word " destiny," — " manifest " or not " manifest.' 
Men and nations make their own destinies, — 

" Our acts our angels are, or g:ood, or ill, — 
Our fatal shadows, that walk by us still." 

The future of this Republic is in our" hands ; and it is fer us tt 
leteraiine whether we will launch the ship of State upon a wild ana 
stormy sea, above whose blackened waters no sunshine beams, no star 
shines out, and where not a ray is seen but what is caught from the 
lurid lightning in its fiery path. This, Senators, is the mighty ques- 
tion we have to solve ; and, let me add, if the freedom of one conti 
nent, and the hopes of four, shall sink beneath that inky flood, our? 
will be the guilt, — ours the deep damnation. 

Shall I be told these are idle fears ? That, in a war with Russia^ 
no matter for what cause waged, we iriv.st be the victors ? That, in 
short, all Europe combined could not blot this Union from the map of 
nations ? Ah, Sir, that is not all I fear. I fear success even more 
than defeat. The Senator from IMichigan was right when he said that 
our fears were to be found at home. I do fear ourselves. Commit 
our people once to unnecessary foreign wars, — let victory encourage 
the military spirit, already too prevalent among them, — and Roman 
history will have no chapter bloody enough to be trunsmitted to 
posterity side by side with ours. In a brief peiiod we shall have 
reenacted, on a grander scale, the same scenes which n)arked her 
decline. The veteran soldier, who has followed a victorious leader from 
clime to clime, will forget his love of country in his love for his com- 
mander ; and the bayonets you send abroad to conquer a kingdom will 
be brought back to destroy the rights of the citizen, and prop the 
throne of an Emperor. 



199 n.^ZARDS OF OUR NATIONAL PROSPERITY, 1851. — K'. R. Sm/^A, o/.^/a&flJ/ia 

Everybody knows, Mr. Speaker, what has been the policy of thin 
Government with respect to the concerns of Europe, up to the present 
time. And what, I ask, has been the result of that policy ? Why 
nom the small beginning of three millions of inhcil)itants, we have 
grown to twenty-three millions- from a small number of States, wc are 



S50 THE STANDARD 8PEAKKK. 

QO-w over thirty. But Kossuth says that we may depart from that 
policy now ; that it was wise when we were young, but that now w«» 
havp gro'vn up to be a giant, and may abandon -it. Ah, Sir, we can 
all r'esist adversity ! We know the uses — and sweet are they — of 
adversity. It is the crucible of fortune. It is the iron key that 
unlocks the golden gates of prosperity. I say, Grod bless adversity, 
when it is properly understood ! But the rock upon which men and 
upon which Nations split is prosperity. This man says that we have 
gi'own to he a giant, and that we may depart from the wisdom of our 
youth. But I say that now is the time to take care ; we are greai 
enough ; let us be satisfied ; prevent the growth of our ambition, to 
prevent our pride from swelling, and hold on to what we have got. 

Do you remember the story of the old Grovernor, who had been 
raised from rags ? His King discovered in him merit and integrity, 
and appointed him a Satrap, a ruler over many pi'ovinces. He came 
to be great, and it was his -custom to be escorted tlii'oughout the coun- 
try several times during the year, in order to see and be seen. He 
was received and acknowledged everywhere as a great man and a great 
Grovernor. But he carried about with him a mysterious chest, and 
every now and then he would look into it, and let nobody else see 
what it contained. There was a great deal of curiosity excited by 
this chest ; and finally he was prevailed upon, by some of his friends, to 
let them look into it. Well, he permitted it, and what did they see ? 
They saw an old, ragged and torn suit of clothes, — the clothes that 
he used to wear in his humility and in his poverty ; and he said that 
he carried them about with him in order that, when his heart began to 
swell, and his ambition to rise, and his pride to dilate, he could look on 
the rags that reminded him of what he had been, and thereby be 
enabled to resist the temptations of prosperity. Let us see whether 
this can illustrate anything in our history, liaise the veil, if there is 
one, which conceals the poverty of this Union, when there were but 
thirteen States ! Raise the veil that conceals the rags of our soldiers 
of the Revolution ! Lift the lid of the chest which contains the pov- 
erty of our beginning, in order that you may be reminded, like this 
old Satrap, of the days of your poverty, and be enabled to resist the 
advice of this man, who tells you that you were wise in your youth^ 
but that now you are a giant, and may depart from that wisdom. 
Remember the use of adversity, and let us take advantage of it, 
and be benefited by it ; for great is the man, and greater is the Natiaii, 
tkat can resist the enchanting smiles of prosperity ! 

200. AGAINST FLOGGING IN THE NAVY, 1S52. — fl. F. Stockton. 

There is one broad proposition upon which I stand. It is this 
Tliat an American sailor is an American citizen, and that no Arneri- 
3an citizen shall, with my consent, be subjected to the inflimous pun- 
ishment of the lash. If, when a citizen enters into the service of his 
)ountry, he is to forego the protection of those laws for the preserva* 
Jon of which \\f is willing to risk his life, he is entitl'xi, in all justice. 



BISNATORIAL. — STOCKTON. o5) 

h'lmunity and gratitude, to all the protection that can be extended ta 
him, in his peculiar circumstances. He ought, certainly, to be pro- 
tected from the infliction of a punis-hnient Avhich stands ccndemnod by 
the almost universal sentiment of his fellow-citizens ; a punishment 
which is proscribed in the best prison-government, proscribed in the 
echool -house, and proscribed in the best government on earth — that 
of parental domestic affection. Yes, Sir, expelled from the social 
circle?, from the school-house, the prison-house, and the Army, it finds 
defenders and champions nowhere but in the Navy ! 

Look to your history, — that part of it which the world knows by 
heart, — and you will find on its brightest page the glorious achieve- 
ments of the American sailor. Whatever his country has done to 
disgrace him, and break his spirit, he has never disgraced her ; he 
has always been ready to serve her ; he always has served her faith- 
fully and effectually. He has often been weighed in the balance, and 
never found wanting. The only fault ever found with him is, that he 
pomctimes fights ahead of his orders. The world has no match for 
him, man for man ; and he asks no odds, and he cares for no odds, 
when the cause of humanity, or the glory of his country, calls him to 
fight. Wlio, in the darkest days of our Revolution, carried your flag 
into the v.^ry cliops of the British Channel, bearded the lion in his 
den, and w^-ke the echoes of old Albion's hills by the thunders of hia 
cannon, acA the shouts of his triumph ? It was the American sailor. 
And the iikimes of John Paul Jones, and the Bon Homme Richard, 
will go down tlie annals of time forever. Who struck the first blow 
that humbled the Barbary flag, — which, for a hundred years, had been 
the terror of Christendom, — drove it from the Mediterranean, and put 
an end to the infamous tribute it had been accustomed to extort ? It 
was the American sailor. And the name of Decatur and his gallant 
companions will be as lasting as monumental brass. In your war of 
1812, when your ai"ms on shore were covered by disaster, — when 
Winchester had been defeated, when the Army of the North-west 
had surrendered, and when the gloom of despondency hung like a cloud 
over the land, — who first relit the fires of national glory, and made tho 
welkin ring with the shouts of victory ? It was the Americap sailor. 
And the names of Hull and the Constitution will be remembered, as 
long as we have left anything worth remembering. That was no small 
event. The wand of Mexican prowess was broken on the Rio Grande. 
The wand of British invincibility was broken when the flag of the 
Guerriere came down. Tliat one event was worth more to the Repub- 
lic than all the money which has ever been expended for the Navy. 
Since that day, the Navy has aad no stain upon its escutcheon, but 
tias been cherished as your pride and glory. And the American sailor 
has established a reputation throughout the world, — in peace and in 
■??ar, in sturra and in battle, — for heroism and prowess unsui'paased. 
He shrinks from no danger, he dreads no foe, and yields to no supe- 
rior. No shoals are too dangerous, no seas too boisterous, no climate 
too rigorous, for him. The burning sun of the tropics cannot mako hie 



S52 THE SiAJDAKD SPEAKER. 

efferclnato, nor can the eternal winter of the polar seas paralyzi; Tiii 
energies. Poster, cherish, develop these characteristics, by a gener- 
ous and paternal government. Excite his emulation, and stimulate 
his ambition, by rewards. But, above all, save him, save him from 
the brutalizing lash, and inspire him with love and confidence for youi 
service ! and then there is no achievement so arduous, no conflict so 
desperate, in which Ms actions will not shed glory upon his country. 
And, when the final struggle comes, as soon it will come, for the em- 
pire of the seas, you may rest with entire confidence in the persuasion 
that victory will be yours. 

— «. 

201. ON GOVERNMENT EXTRAVAGANCJi;, 1838.— ./o/m J. Cn«e/i(Zen. 

The bill under consideration is intended txj authorize the Treasury 
Department to issue ten millions of Treasury Notes, to be applied to 
the discharge of the expenses of Grovernment. Habits of extravagance, 
it seems, are hard to change. They constitute a disease ; ay, Sir, a 
very dangerous one. That of the present Administration came to a 
crisis about eight months ago, and it cost the patient ten millions of 
Treasury Notes to get round the corner. And now it is as bad as 
ever ! Another crisis has come, and the doctors asli for ten millions 
more. The disease is desperate. Money or death ! They say, if the 
bill is rejected, Government must " stop." What must stop ? The 
laws ? The judicial tribunals ? The Jjogislative bodies ? The insti- 
tutions of the country ? No, no, Sir ! nU these will remain, and go 
on. What stops, then ? Its own extravagance, — that must stop, and 
•' there 's the rub ! " Besides, Sir, I miist really be permitted to say, 
that, if to keep this Administration on its feet is to cost ten millions 
of extraordins.ry supply, every six or eight months, why, Mr. Presi- 
dent, tlie sooner its fate is recorded in the bills of mortality, the better. 
Let me know how this money is to be applied. I never will vote a 
dollar on the mere cry of " exigency ! " — " crisis ! " I will be behind 
no man in meeting the real necessities of my country, but I will not 
blindly, or heedlessly, vote away the money of the People, or involve 
them in debt. If the Government wants money, let it borrow it. If 
extravagance or necessity shall bring a national debt upon us, let it 
come openly, and not steal upon us in the disguise of Treasury Notes. 
" ! but it is no debt," say gentlemen ; " it is only issuing a few 
notes, to meet a crisis." Well, Sir, whether it be a national debt, I 
will not say. This I know, it will be followed, whatever it is, with 
fclie serious and substantial consequence, that the people of the United 
States will have to pay it, every cent of it, and with interest. Sir, I 
ilesire to see this experimenting Administration forced to make some 
experiments in economy. It is almost the only sort of experiment to 
whicti it seems averse. Its cry is still for money, money, vioney I 
But, for one, I say to it, " Take pliysic, Pomp ! " Lay aside youl 
extravagance. Too much money has been your bane. And I do no< 
reel myself required, by any duty, to grant you more, at present. If 
i did, it would not be in the form proposed by the bill 



1 



PART FOURTH 



FORENSIC AND JUDICIAL 



i 



1. TILE LIBERTY OF THE PRESS, 1794. — John Pkilpot Currem. 

What, then, remains.? The liberty of the Press, only, — that sacred 
palladium, wliich no influence, no power, no minister, no Government, 
which nothing but the depravity or folly or corruption of a jury, can 
ever destroy. And what calamities are the People saved from, by 
having public communication left open to them ? I will tell you. 
Gentlemen, what they are saved from, and what the Government is 
saved fi-om ; I will tell you, also, to what both are exposed, by shut- 
ting up that communication. In one case, sedition speaks aloud, and 
walks abroad ; the demagogue goes forth, — the public eye is upon 
him, — he frets his busy hour upon the stage ; but soon either weari- 
ness, or bribe, or punishment, or disappointment, bears him down, or 
drives him off, and he appears no more. In the other case, how does 
the work of sedition go forward ? Night after night, the muffled 
rebel steals forth in the dark, and casts another and another brand 
upon the pile, to which, when the hour of fatal maturity shall arrive 
he will apply the torch. 

In that awful moment of a Nation's travail, of the last gasp of 
tyranny, and the first breath of freedom, how pregnant is the example ! 
The Press extinguished, the People enslaved, and the Prince undone ! 
As the advocate of society, therefore, of peace, of domestic liberty, 
and the lasting union of the two countries, I conjure you to guard the 
liberty of the Press, that great sentinel of the State, that grand detect- 
01 of public imposture ! Guard it, because, when it sinks, there sinks 
with it, in one com.mon grave, the liberty of the subject, and the secur 
itj of the Crown ! 



2 DESCRIPTION OF MR. ROWAN, 1794. — JoAn PM/pot Currem. 

Gf.MLEMEN, if you Still havo any doubt as to the guilt or innocentio 
of the defendant, give me leave to suggest to you what circumstances 
yci ought to consider, in order to found your verdict. You should 
consider the chai'acter of the person accused ; and in this your task is 
easy. I will venture to say there is not a man in this Nation more 
known than the gentleman who is the subject of this prosecution ; not 
only by the part he has taken in public concerns, and which he has 
taken in comm.on with many, but still more so by that extraordinary 
syranathy for human affliction, which, I am sorry to think, he shares- 
23 



B54 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

«rith i?o small a nuniber. There is not a day that you hear the cne« 
flf your star\ing manufacturers in. your streets, that you do not also 
Bee the advocate of their suiFerings, — that you do not see his honest 
and manly figure, with uncovered head, soliciting for their relief, — 
searching the frozen heart of charity for every su^'ng that can be 
touched by compassion, and urging the force of every argument and 
every motive, save that which his modesty suppresses, the authority 
of his own generous esample. 

Or, if you see him not there, you may trace his steps to the private 
abodes of disease, and famine, and despair, — the messenger of Heaven, 
bringing with him food, and medicine, and consolation. Are these the 
materials of which you suppose anarchy and public rapine to be formed 1 
Is this the man on whom to fasten the abominable chai'ge of goading 
on a frantic populace to mutiny and bloodshed ? Is this the man 
likely to apostatize fi»m every principle that can bind him to the 
State, — his birth, his property, his education, his character, and his 
children ? Let me tell you, gentlemen of the jury, if you agree with 
his prosecutors, in thinking that there ought to be a sacrifice of such a 
man on such an occasion, and upon the credit of such evidence you are 
to convict him, never did you, never can you give a sentence, consign- 
ing any man to public punishment, with less danger to his person or 
to his fame ; for where, to fling c^'tumely or ingratitude at his head, 
could the hireling be found, whose ^jrivate distresses he had not endeav- 
ored to alleviate, or whose public condition he had not labored to 
improve ^ 

1 will not relinquish the confidence that this day will be the period 
of my client's sufferings ; and that, however mercilessly he has been 
hitherto pursued, your verdict will send him home to the arms of his 
family, and the wishes of his country. But if (which Heaven forbid I) 
it hath still been unfortunately determined, that, because he has not 
bent to power and authority, — because he would not bow down before 
the golden calf, and worship it, — he is to be bound and cast into the 
:urnace, I do trust in God that there is a redeeming 'spirit in the 
Constitution, which will be seen to walk with the sufferer through the 
Hames, and to preserve him unhurt by the conflagration ! 



THE HABKAS CORPUS ACT —John Phi/pot Curran, in the ca/te of the King 
against Mr. Justice Johnson., Feb. ilh, 1805, before Chief Baron Lord Avonmort tmd 
CAe other Barons, in the Court of Exchequer. 

I NOW address you on a question the most vitally connected with 
h .< liberty and well-being of every man within the limits of the I?ritish 
mpire ; — which being decided one way , ae may be a freeman ; winch 
■eing decided the other, he must be a slave. I refer to the mainten- 
itnce of tliat sacred security for the freedom of Englishmen, — so justly 
uailed the second Magna Charta of British liberty, — the Habeas Cor- 
pxis Act ; the spirit and letter of which is, that the party arrested shall 
without a moment's delay, be bailed, if the oflTence be bailable. Wha< 



FORENSIC AXD JUDICIAL. — CCRllAN. SW 

waa the xjcasion of the law ? The arbitrary transportation ^f the ?ub. 
ject beyjiid the rcahji ; the Itase and malignant war which the odious 
and despicable minions of power are forever ready tt) wage against all 
those who are honest and bold enough to despise, to expose, and to 
resist them. 

Such is the oscitanc}' of man, that he lies torpid for ages under tliese 
aggressioris, until, at last, some signal abuse — the violation of Lucrec3, 
the death of Virginia, the oppression of William Tell — shakes him 
from his slumlier. For years had those drunken gambols of power 
been played in England ; for years had the waters of bitterness been 
rising to the brim ; at last, a single drop caused them to overflow, — 
the oppression of a single individual raised the people of England from 
their sleep. And what does that great statute do ? It defines and 
asserts the right, it points out the abuse ; and it endeavors to secure the 
right, and to guard against the abuse, by gi'vnng redress to the sufierer, 
and by punishing the olTender. For years had it been the practice to 
transport obnoxious persons out of the rea].m into distant parts, under 
the pretext of punishment, or of safe custody. Well might they have 
been said, to be seat "to that undiscovered country from whose bourn 
no traveller returns ;" for of these wretched travellers how few ever 
did return ! 

But of that flagrant abuse this statute has laid the axe to the root. 
It prohibits the abuse ; it declares such detention or removal illegal ; 
it gives an action against all persons concerned in the offepce, by con- 
triving, writing, signing, countersigning, "such warrant, or advising or 
assisting therein. Are bulwarks like these ever constructed to repel 
the incursions of a contemptible enemy ? Was it a trivial and ordi- 
nary occasion which raised this storm of indignation in the Parliament 
of that day ? Is 'the ocean ever lashed by the tempest, to waft a 
feather, or to drown a fly ? By this act you have a solemn legislative 
declaration, " that it is incom.i»atib]e with liberty to send any subject 
out of the realm, under pretence of any crime supposed or alleged to 
be committed in a foreign jurisdiction, except that crime be capital." 
Such were the bulwarks which our ancestoi'S placed about the sacred 
temple of liberty, such the ramparts by which they sought to bar out 
the ever-toiling ocean of arbitrary power ; and thought (generous cre- 
dulity !) that they had barred it out from their posterity forever. 
Little did they foresee the future race of vermin that would work 
their way through those mounds, and let back the inundation ! 



4. CURRAN'S APPEAL TO LORD AVONMORE. — From the Imtnimed sptte\ 

I AM not ignorant, my Lords, that the extraordinary construction 
5f law against which I contend has received the sanction of another 
30urt, nor of the surprise and dismay with which it smote upon the 
^neral heart of the bar. I am aware that I may have the mortifica- 
tion of being told, in another country, of th?t unhappy de'*,ision; ^nd \ 



ODO the standard SrEAKEK, 

fcveseo in what confusion I shall hang iown mj head wnen 1 Ka 
told it. 

But I cherish, too, the consolatory hope, that 1 shall be able to loIl 
them that I had an old and learned friend, whom I would put atove 
all the sweepings of their hall, who was of a different opinion; -who had 
derived his ideas of civil liberty from the purest fountains of Athena 
and of Rome ; who had fed the youthful vigor of his studious mind 
with the theoretic knowledge of their wisest philosophers and states- 
men , and who had refined that theory into the quick and exquisite 
sensibility of moral instinct, by contemplating the practice of their 
most illustrious examples, — by dwelling on the sweet-souled piety of 
Oimon, on the anticipated Christianity of Socrates, on the gallant 
and pathetic patriotism of Epaminondas, on that pure austerity of 
Fabricius, whom to move from his integrity would have been more 
difficult than to have pushed the sun from his course. 

I would add, that, if he had seemed to hesitate, it was but for a 
moment ; that his hesitation was like the passing cloud that floats 
across the morning sun, and hides it from the view, and does so for a 
moment hide it, by involving the spectator, without even approaching 
the face of the luminary. And this soothing hope I draw from the 
dearest and tenderest recollections of my life ; from the remembrance 
of those attic nights and those refections of the god' which we have 
partaken with those admired, and respected, and beloved companions, 
who have gone before us, — over whose ashes the most precious tears 
of Ireland have been shed.* ' 

Yes, my good lord, I see you do not forget them ; I see their sacred 
forms passing in sad review before your memory ; I see your pained , 
and softened fancy recalling thos& happy meetings, where the innocent 
enjoyment of social mirth became expanded into the nobler warmth of 
social virtue, and the horizon of the board became enlarged into the 
horizon of man ; where the swelling heart conceived and communicated 
the pure and generous purpose ; where my slenderer and younger taper 
imbibed its borrowed light from the more matured and redundant foun- 
tain of yours. Yes, my lord, we can remember those nights, without 
any other regret than that they can never more return ; for, 

" We spent them not in toys, or lust, or wine; 
But search of deep philosophy, 
Wit, eloquence, aed poesy; 
Arts which I loved, for they, my friend, were thine." 

* Hers, a^wording to the original report, Lord Avonmore could not refrain froEc 
Irargting into tears. In the midst of Curran's legal argument, " this most beautifu. 
episode," says Charles Phillips, " bloomed like a green spot amid the desert. Mr 
Ourran tcld me himself, that when the court ruse, the tip-staff informed him he waJ 
wanted immediately in chamber by one of the judges of the Exchequer. He, of 
aourse, obeyed the judicial mandate; and the moment he entered, poor Lord Avon. 
more, whose cheeks were still wet with the tears extorted by this heai-t-touchinj 
ajipeal, clasped him to hi? bosom " A coolness caused by political dijierenceg 
which bad for some time existed between them, giiye place to a renewal of frieud 
•hip, which was not again inten-upted 



FOKENSIC AND JUDICIAL. - - EMMETT, 3f ) 

& ON BEXNd FOUND OriLTY OF HIGH TREASON. — «(.fcpr< Emmett 

On tb» 23J of June, 1803, a rebellion against the Government broke out in Dublin, in which 
Robert Emuiett, at the time only twenty-three years of a;j;e, was a principal actjr. It provai 
t failure. Kmmett was arrested, having misseil the opjifjrtunity of escape, it is said, by linger 
mg to take leave of a daufrht^r of Curran, the {rifled orator, to wliom he bore an attaciiuient, 
tr.ir.b was reciprocated. On the 19tli of Suiitenihur, ISUU, Kmmett was tried for high treason 
»1 the Sessions Houses Dublin, before Lord Notlmry, one of the Chief Judges of the Kiog'l 
Beno, and others; was found guilty, and e.Kecuted the next day. Through his counsel, he had 
•skei) , at the trial, that the judgment of the Court might be postponed until the next morning. 
Cliis request was not granted. The clerk of the Crown read the indictment, and announoecl 
the verdict found, in the usual foi'm. He then concluded thus : " What have you, therefore 
liow to say, why judgment of death and execution should not be awarded against you, accord 
?i/g to law ?" Standing forward in the dock, in front of the Bench, Emmett made tlie I'^l' jning 
toipromptu address, which we give entire, dividing it only into passages of a suitable If-ii^th for 
declamation. At his execution, Emmett disiilayeil great fortitude. As he was passing out of 
his cell, on his way to the gallows, he met the turnkey, wh r h nl li-. mi,' much attached to him. 
Being fettered, Emmett could not give his luial ; so li. ^ -i lellow on th" check. 

who, overcome by the mingled condescension and teiidern. i : i! senseless at the feet 

of the youthful victim, and did not recover till the latter v. .io i.u lui;:;ci- uiuonc the living. 

I. 

V/hat have I to say, why sentence of death should not be pixt- 
nouaced on me, according to law ? I have nothing to say which can 
alter your predetermination, or that it would become me to say with 
any view to the mitigation of that sentence which you are here to 
pronounce, and which I must abide. But I have that to say which 
interests me more tlian life, and which you have labored — as was 
necessarily your office in the present circumstances of this oppressed 
country — to destroy. I have much to say, why my reputation should 
be rescued from the load of false accusation and calumny which has 
been heaped upon it. I do not imagine that, seated where you are, 
your minds otin be so free from impurity as to receive the least 
impression from what I am going to utter. I have no hope that I 
can anchor my character in the breast of a Court constituted and 
trammelled as tliis is. I only wish, and it is the utmost I expect, 
that your Lordships may suffer it to float down your memories, 
untainted by the foul breath of prejudice, until it finds some more 
hospitable harbor, to shelter it from the rude storm by which it is at 
present buffeted. 

Were I only to suffer death, after being adjudged guilty by your 
tribunal, I should bow in silence, and meet the fate that awa'ts me, 
without a murmur. But the sentence of the law which delivers my 
body to the executioner will, through the ministry of that law, labor, 
in its own vindication, to consign my character to obloquy : for there 
must be guilt somewhere, — whether in the sentence of the Court, or 
in the catastrophe, posterity must determine. A man in my situation, 
my Lords, has not only to encounter the difficulties of fortune, and 
the force of power over minds which it has corrupted or subjugated. 
but the difficulties of established prejudice : — tho man dies, but hia 
memory lives : tliat mine may not perish, that it may live in the 
respect of my countrymen. 1 seize upon this opportunity to vindicate 
myself from some of the charges alleged against me. When m_y 
spirit shall be wafted to a more friendly port, — when my shade shall 
iave joined the bands of those martyred heroes who have shed th«>\i 



858 JHE STAN14RD SPEAKER. 

blood, Oii the scaffold and in the field, in defence of thai]- couiitrj) 'aoo 
of virtue, — thiri is my hope : I wish that my memory and name maj 
animate those who survive me, while I look down with complacency 
on the destruction of that perfidious Government which upholds its 
dominion by blasphemy of the Most High, — which displays its 
power over man as over the beasts of the forest, — which sets man 
upon his brother, and lifts his hand, in the name of God, against the 
throat of his fellow, who believes or doubts a little more, or a little 
less, than the Government standard, — a Government which is steeled 
to barljarity by the cries of the orphans and the tears of the widows 
sshich it has made.* 



I APPEAL to the immaculate God, — to the throne of Heaven, before 
which I must shortly appear, — to the blood of the murdered patriots 
who have gone before, — that my conduct has- been, through all this 
peril, and through all my purposes, governed only by the convictions 
which I have uttered, and by no other view than that of the em.anci- 
pation of my country from the suf^erinhuman oppression under which 
she has so long and too patiently travailed ; and that I confidently and 
assuredly hope that, wild and chimerical as it may appear, there is 
srill union and strength in Ireland to accomplifih this noblest 
enterprise. Of this I speak with the confidence of intimate knowl- 
edge, and with the consolation that appertains to that confidence. 
Think not, my Lords, I say this for the petty gratification of giving 
you a transitory uneasiness ; a man who never yet raised his voice to 
assert a lie will not hazard his character with posterity by asserting 
a falsehood on a subject so important to his country, and on an occa- 
sion like this. Yes, my Lords ; a man who does not wish to have hij 
epitaph written until his country is liberated will not leave a weajwn 
in the power of envy, nor a pretence to impeach the probity which 
he means to preserve even in the grave to which tyranny consigns 
him.t 

Again I say, that what I have spoken was not intended for jonv 
Lordships, whose situation I commiserate rather than envy ; — my 
expressions were for my countrymen; if there is a true Irishman 
present, let my last words cheer him in the hour of his affliction — t 

I have always understood it to be the duty of a judge, when a 
prisoner has been convicted, to pronounce the sentence of the law ; I 
have also understood that judges sometimes think it their duty to hear 
with patience, and to speak with humanity ; to exhort the victim of 
tko laws, and to offer, with tender benignity, opinions of the motives 

"^ Here Lord Norbury said : " The -vreak and wicked enthusiasts who feel a3 yoB 
&»el are unequal to the accomplishment of their wild designs.--' 

I He was tiere interrupted by Lord Norbury, who said : " You proceed to UDwar 
rantable lengths, in order to exasperate and delude the unwary, and circulat* 
opinions of the most dangerous tendency, for the purposes of mischief." 

X Lord Norbury here interrupted the speaker with, — " What you have hitbertf 
■aia confirms and justifies the verdict of the jury." 



FORENSIC A>{D JUDICIAL. EMIIBTT. 3.'>b 

Dy which he vas actuated in the crime ot l^Jich fie had beei 
adjudged guilty. That a judge has thought it his duty fco to havo 
done, I have no doubt ; but where is the boasted freedom of your 
institutions, — where is the vaunted impartiality, clemency, and iniUU 
ness of your courts of justice, — if an unfortunate prisoner, whom 
your {K)licy, and not justice, is about to deliver into the hands of the 
executioner, is not sutfered to explain his motives sincerely and truly, 
and to vindicate the principles by which he was actuated ? 



My Lords, it may l)e a part of the system of angry justice to bow 
a man's mind, by humiliation, to the purposed ignominy of the scaf« 
fold ; but worse to me than the scaffold's shame, or the scaffold'? 
terrors, would be the shame of such foul and unfounded imputations 
as have been laid against me in this Court. You, my Lord, are a 
judge. I am the supposed culprit. I am a man, — you are a man 
also By a revolution of power, we might change places, though we 
never could change characters. If I stand at the bar of this Court, 
and dare not vindicate my character, what a farce is your j-ustice ! If 
I stand at this bar, and dare not vindicate my character, how dare 
you calumniate it ? Does the sentence of death, which your unhal- 
owed policy inflicts on my body, also condemn my tongue to silence, 
and ray reputation to reproach ? Your executioner may abridge the 
period of my existence ; but, while I exist, I shall not forbear to vin- 
dicate my character and motives from your aspersions. As a man to 
whom fame is dearer than life, I will make the last use of that life in 
doing justice to that reputation which is to live after me, and which 
is the only legacy I can leave to those I honor and love, and for whom 
I am proud to perish. As men, my Lord, we must appear, on the 
great day, at one common tribunal ; and it will then remain for the 
Searcher of all hearts to show a collective universe who are engaged 
in the most virtuous actions, or actuated by the purest motives, — my 
country's oppressors or — * 

My Loi'd, shall a dying man be denied the legal privilege ot 
exculpating himself, in the eyes of the community, of an undeserved 
reproach thrown upon him dui'ing his trial, by charging him with am- 
bition, and attempting to cast away, for a paltry consideration, the 
liberties of his country ? Why, then, insult me ? or, rather, why 
insult justice, in demanding of me why sentence of death should not 
be pronounced ? I know, my Lord, that form prescribes that you 
ehnuld ask the question ; the form also presumes the right of answer- 
ing ! This, no doubt, may be dispensed with ; and so might the whole 
ceremony of the trial, since sentence was already pronounced at the 
Oastle before your jury was impanelled. Your Lordships ai-e but 
th.-; priests of the oracle, and I submit to the sacrifice ; but I insiai 
in the wholr of the forms.'*' 

• Here Lord Norbury exclaimed : " Listen, Sir, to the sentence of the law.'' 
t Here Mr. Eiumett paused, and the Court desired hi^ to proceed 



S60 THl ^ANDARD SPEAKJDlv. 



J AM charged with being an emissary of France An emissary of 
France ! — and for what end It is dleged that 1 wished to sell th< 
independence of my country ! And for what end ? Was this the 
object of my ambition ? and is this the mode by which a tribunal of 
justice reconciles contradictions? No! I am no emissary. Mj 
ambition was to hold a place among the deliverers of my country, — ■ 
not in power, nor in profit, but in the glory of the achievement. Sell 
my country's independence to France ! And for what ? For a change 
of masters ? No ; but for ambition ! 0, my country ! was it personal 
ambition that could influence me ? Had it been the soul of my actions, 
could I not, by my education and fortune, by the rank and consider- 
ation of my family, have placed myself among the proudest of your 
oppressors ? My country was my idol. To it I sacrificed every self- 
ish, every endearing sentiment ; and for it I now offer up my life ! 
God ! No ! my Lord ; I acted as an Irishman, determined on deliver- 
ing my country from the yoke of a foreign and unrelenting tyranny, and 
fi'om the more galling yoke of a domestic faction, its joint partner and 
perpetrator in the patricide, whose reward is the ignominy of existing 
with an exterior of splendor, and a consciousness of depravity. It was 
the wish of my heart to extiicate my country from this doubly riveted 
despotism. I wished to place her independence beyond the reach of 
any power on earth. I wished to exalt her to that proud station in 
the world which Providence had fitted her to fill. 

Connection with France was, indeed, intended ; but only as far as 
mutual interest would sanction or require. Were the French to 
assume any a,uthorifcy incansisteat with the purest independence, it 
would be the signa,l for their destruction. We sought aid of them ; and 
we sought it, as we had assurance we should obtain it, — as auxiliaries 
in war, and allies in peace. Wore the French to come as invaders or 
enemies, uninvited by the wishes of the People, I should oppose them 
to the u+most of my strength. Yes, my countrymen, I would meet 
them on the beach, with a sword in one hand and a torch in the other. 
I would meet them with all the destructive fury of war ; and I would 
animate you to immolate them in their boats, before they had contami- 
nated the soil. If they succeeded in landing, and if we were forced to 
retire before superior discipline, I would dispute every inch of ground, 
raze every house, burn every blade of grass before them, and the last 
ictrenchment of liberty should be my grave. What I could not do 
mjself, if I should fall, I would leave in charge to my countrymen U 
accomplish ; because I should feel conscious that life, more than death, 
IS unprofitable, when a foreign nation holds my country in subjection. 

But it was not as an enemy that the succors of France were to land. 
I looked, indeed, for the assistance of France ; but I wished to prove 
to France, and to the world, that Irishmen deserved to be assisted j 
that they were indignant at slavery, and ready to asseit th^ indfpenJ- 
Kice and liberty of their country ! I wished to procure tor my coup 



FORENSIC AND JUDICIAL. JEMMETT. 361 

try the gus runtee which Washington procured for America, — to pro- 
cure an aid which, by its example, would be as important as by ita 
valor, — allies disciplined, gallant, pregnant with science and csijeri- 
enoe ; who would preserve the good and polish the rough points of oui 
character ; who would come to us as strangers, and leave us as friends, 
after sharing our perils and elevating our destiny. These were my 
objects ; not to receive new task-masters, but to expel old tyrants. 
Thase were my views, and these only become Irishmen. It was foi 
these ends I sought aid from France, because France, even as an 
enemy, could not be more implacable than the enemy already in the 
bosom of my country.* 

V. 

1 HAVE been charged with that importance, in the efforts to emanci- 
pate my country, as to be considered the key-stone of the combination 
of Irishmen, or, as your Lordship expressed it, " the life and blood of 
the conspiracy." You do me honor overmuch. You have given to 
the subaltern all the credit of a superior. There are men engaged in 
this conspiracy who are not only superior to me, but even to your own 
conceptions of yourself, my Lord ; — men, before the splendor of whose 
genius and virtues I should bow with respectful deference, and who 
would think themselves dishonored to be called your friends, — who 
would not disgrace themselves by shaking your blood-stained hand ! t 

What, my Lord, shall you tell me, on the passage to the scaiFold 
which that tyranny, of which you are only the intermediate minister, 
has erected for my murder, that I am accountable for all the blood that 
has been and will be shed, in this struggle of the oppressed against the 
oppressor ? Shall you tell me this, and must I be so very a slave as 
not to repel it ? I, who fear not to approach the Omnipotent Judge, 
to answer for the conduct of my short life, — am I to be appalled here, 
before a mere remnant of mortality ? — by you, too, who, if it were 
possible to collect all the innocent blood that you have caused to be 
shed, in your unhallowed ministry, in one great reservoir, your Lord- 
ship might swim in it ! 1^ 

Let no man dare, when I am dead, to chaigt; me with dishonor. 
Lit no man attaint my memory by believing that I could have eng-;iged 
in any caus-a but that of my country's liberty and independence, or that 
I could have become the pliant minion of power in the oppression and 
the miseries of my countrymen. The proclamation of the Provisional 
Government speaks for my views. No inference can be tortured from 
it to countenance barbarity or debasement at home, or subjection, 
humiliation or treachery, from abroad. I would not have submitted 
to a foreign oppressor, for the same reason that I would resist the 
lomestic tyrant. In the dignity of freedom I would have fought upoD 
tue threshold of ray country, and its enemy should enter only by pas* 
ing over my lifeless corpse. And am I, who lived but for my country 

* Here he was interrupted by the Court. 

\ Here he was interru^jted by Lord Norl ary. ^ Hero the rodare int^'^ere^ 



S02 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

-- who have subjected myself to the dangers ox the jealous and watcA 
fiil oppiesyor, and now to the bondage of the grave, only to give my 
oountrymeu their rights, and my country her independence, — am 1 
to be loaded with calumny, and not suffered to resent it ^ No . God 
forbid ! * 

If the spirits of the illustrious dead participate in the concerns and 
cares of those who were dear to them in this transitory life, 0, ever 
dear and venerated shade of my departed father, look down with 
scrutiny upon the conduct of your sufi'ering son, and see if I have, even 
for a moment, deviated from those principles of morality and patriot- 
ism which it was your care to instil into my youthful mind, and for 
which I am now to offer up my life ! 

My Lords, you seem impatient for the sacrifice. The blood for 
which you thirst is not congealed by the artificial terrors which sur- 
round your victim; — it circulates, warmly and unruffled, through the 
channels which God created for nobler purposes, but which you are 
bent to destroy, for purposes so grievous that they cry to Heaven. Be 
ye patient ! I have but a few words more to say. I am goir,g to my 
cold and silent grave. My lamp of life is nearly extinguished. My 
race is run. The grave opens to receive me, — and I sink into ite 
bosom ! I have but one request to ask, at my departure from thia 
world ; — it is the charity of its silence. Let no man write my epi- 
taph ; for, as no man who knows my motives dare now vindicate them, 
let not prejudice or igu-orance asperse them. Let them and me repose 
in obscurity and peace, and my tomb remain uninscribed, until other 
times and other men can do justice to my character. When my coun- 
try takes her place among the nations of the earth, — then, and not 
till then, — let my epitaph be written \ I have done 



L. GREAT MINDS IN THEIR RELATIONS TO CHRISTIANITY. — £rsfane, jn tHe trial 
ofWiUia'nis,forpubUf:luns Paiiie\i "^^e of Reason.''' 

Thomas Erskine was born in Scotland, in 1750, ami made Lord Chancellor in 1806. _ He died 
In 1823. He was one of the greatest advocates who have graced the Bar ; and, in serious foren- 
sic oratory, has never been surpassed. It lias been said of him, that no man that ever lived so 
elevated and honored his caUing. 

In running the mind along the long list of sincere and devout 
Christians, I cannot help lamenting that Newton had not lived to this 
day, to have had his shallowness filled up with this new flood of light, 
poured upon the world by Mr. Thomas Paine. But the subject is too 
awi'ul for irony. I will speak plainly and directly. Newton was a 
Christian I — Newton, whose mind burst forth from the fetters cast by 
aature upon our finite conceptions ; — Newton, whose science waa 
truth, and the foundations of whose knowledge of it was philosophy 
not tho.se visionary and arrogant presumptions which too often usurp 
its name, but pliilosophy resting upon the basis of mathematics, whi 2b 

* Hero Lord Norbury told the prisoner that his principles were treasonanfe ano 
mbversive of government, and his language unbecoming a person in his situation, 
and that his father, the late Dr. Emmett, was a man who wonld m-i i are count* 
oanced such sentiments 



FORENSIC AND JUDICIAL. ERSKINK. 3<f5 

like rigures, canrot lie ; — Newton, who carried the line and rule to the 
atterniost barrier of creation, and explored the jn'inciples by which, n^ 
doubt, all created matter is held together and exists. But this extraor 
dinary man, in the mighty reach of his mind, overloolced, perhapsi 
what a minuter investigation of the created things on this earth might 
have taught him, of the essence of his Creator. What, then, shall be 
said of the great Mr. Boyle, wlio looked into the organic structure of all 
matter, even to the brute inanimate substances which the foot treads on? 
Such a man may l)e supposed to have^been equally qualified, with Mr. 
Paine, to look up through nature to nature's God ; yet the result of all 
his contemplation was the most confirmed and devout Itelief in all which 
the otlier holds in contempt, as despicable and drivelling sujierstition. 

But this error might, perhaps, arise from a want of due attention to 
the foundations of human judgment, and the structure of that under- 
standing which God has given us for the investigation of truth. Let 
that question be answered by Mr. Locke, who was, to the highest 
pitch of devotion and adoration, a Christian ; — Mr. Locke, whose 
office was to detect the errors of thinking, by going up to the fountains 
of thouiiht, and to direct into the proper track of reasoning the devi- 
ous mind of man, by showing him its whole process, from the first pei'- 
ceptions of sense to the last conclusions of ratiocination, putting a rein 
upon false opinions by practical rules for the conduct of human judg- 
ment. But these men were only deep thinkers, and lived in their 
closets, unaccustomed to the traffic of the world, and to the laws which 
practically regulate mankind. 

Gentlemen, in the place where we "now sit to administer the justice 
of this great country, above a century ago, the never to be forgotten 
Sir Matthew Hale presided, whose faith in Christianity is an e.Kalted 
commentary upon its truth and reason, and whose life was a glorious 
example of its fruits in man, administering human justice with wisdom 
and purity, drawn from the pure fountain of the Christian dispensa- 
tion, which has been, and will be, in all ages, a subject of the highest 
reverence and admiration. But it is said by the author that the 
Christian flible is but the tale of the more ancient superstitions of the 
world, and may be easily detected by a proper understanding of the 
mythologies of the heathens. Did Milton understand those mytholo- 
gies ? Was he less versed than Mr. Paine in the superstitions of the 
world ? No ; they were the subject of his immortal song ; and though 
iihut out from all recurrence to them, he poured them forth from the 
Eiiorjs of a memory rich with all that man ever knew, and laid them 
ia their order, as the illustration of real and exalted faith, — the 
nnquostionable source of that fervid genius which cast a sort of shade 
npon all the other works of man. But it was the light of the BOP'y 
only that was extinguished ; — •* the celestial light shone inward, and 
enabled him to justify the ways of God to man." 

Thus you find all that is great, or wise, or splendid, or illustrioujv 
amongst created beings, — all the minds gifted beyond ordinary nature, 
J' not inspu-cd by its universal A-uthor for the advancement and diguitj 



364 THE STANDAPD SPEAKEK. 

of the world, — though divided by distant ages, and bj clashing opiniomi 
distinguishing thera from one another, yet joining, as it were, in one 
Bfiblime chorus to celebrate the truths of Christianity, and hiving upou 
.ts holy altars the never-failing offerings of their immortal wisdom, 



S. ATTEMPTS TO BIAS JUDGMENT IN CASE OF WILKES, 1768. —Zord Mam^efi. 

It is fit to take some notice of the various terrors being h3ld out te 
the judges on this Bench ; the numerous crowds which have attended 
and now attend in and about this hall, out of all reach of hearing wha4 
passes in Court ; and the tumults which, in other places, have shame- 
fliUy insulted all order and government. Audacious addresses in 
print dictate to us, from those they call the People, the judgment to 
]y given now, and afterwards upon the conviction. Reasons of policy 
a e urged, from danger to the kingdom by commotions and general 
confusion. Give me leave to take the opportunity of this great and 
respectable audience, to let the whole world know that all such 
attempts are vain. Unless we have been able to find an error which 
will bear us out to reverse the outlawry, it must be afiirmed. The 
Constitution does not allow reasons of state to influence our judgments. 
God forbid it should ! We must not regard political consequences, 
how formidable soever they might be ; if rebellion was the certain 
consequence, we are bound to say, ^' Fiat justitia, mat ccelurn.^'' We 
are to say what we take the law to be ; if we do not speak our real 
opinions, we prevaricate with God and our own consciences. 

I pass over many anonymotis letters I have received : those in print 
are public : and some of them have been brought judicially before the 
court. Whoever the writers are, they take the wrong way ; I will do 
my duty unawed. What am I to fear ? That mendax infamia from 
the Press, which daily coins false facts and false motives ? The lies 
of calumny carry no terror to me. I trust that my temper of mind, 
and the color and conduct of my life, have given me a suit of armor 
against these arrows. If, during this King's reign, I have ever sup- 
ported liis Government, and assisted his measures, I have done it with- 
out any other reward than the consciousness of doing what I thought 
right. If I have ever opposed, I have done it upon the points them- 
selves, without mixing in party or faction, and without any collateral 
views. I honor the King, and respect the People ; but, many things 
acquired by the favor of either are, in my account, objects not worth 
ambition. I wish popularity • but it is that popularity which follows; 
not that which is run after ; it is that popularity which, sooner or 
later, never fails to do justice to the pursuit of noble ends, by noble 
means. I will not do that which my conscience tells me is wrong, 
upon this occasion, to gain .the huzzas of thousands, or the daily praise 
of all the papers which come from the press ; I will not avoid doing what 
E think is right, though it should draw on me the whole artillery of 
libels, - - all that falsehood and malice can invent, or < he credulity of & 
isluded populace -^an swallow. I can say, with a gi'ciat magistmtfi 



t 



VCRENSir ANP JUDICIAL. MACKINTOSH, 36J| 

apoi) an occasion and under circumstances not unlike, " ii'90 hot 
anhno semper fui, ut invidiam virtute partam^ c^i^riam, non 
invifliam, jnitaremy 

The threats go further than abuse ; personal violence is denouncc'l 
I do not believe it ; it is not the genius of the worst men ot tliia 
country, in the worst of times. But I have set my mind at rest. The 
last end that can happen to any man never comes too soon, if he falls 
in support of the law and liberty of his country, — for liberty ia 
synonymous with law and government. Such a shock, too, might be 
productive of public good ; it might awake the better part of the king- 
dom out of that lethargy which seems to have benumbed them, and 
bring the mad back to their senses, as men intoxicated are sometimes 
stunned into sobriety. Once for all, let it be understood that no 
endeavors of this kind will influence any man who at present sits here ; 
no libels, no threats, nothing that has happened, nothing that can 
happen ! 

♦ 

8. DEFENCE OF M. PELTIER FOR A LIBEL ON NAPOLEON. —Sir J. Macldntosh. 

Gentlemen, there is one point of view in which this case seems to 
merit your most serious attention. The real prosecutor is the master 
of the greatest empire the civilized world ever saw ; the defendant is 
a defenceless, proscribed exile. I consider this case, therefore, as the 
first of a long series of conflicts between the greatest power in the 
world, and the only free press remaining in Europe. Gentlemen, 
this distinction of the English Press is new, — it is a proud and melan- 
choly distinction. Before the great earthquake of the French Revolu- 
tion had swallowed up all the asylums of tree discussion on the Conti- 
nent, we enjoyed that privilege, indeed, more fully than others, but 
we did not enjoy it exclusively. In Holland, in Switzerland, in the 
imperial towns of Germany, the Press was either legally or practically 
free. Holland and Switzerland are no more ; and, since the con> 
mencement of this prosecution, fifty imperial towns have been erased 
from the list of independent States, by one dash of the pen. 

One asylum of free discussion is still inviolate. There is still one 
spot in Europe where man can freely exercise his reason on the most 
important concerns of society, — where he can boldly publish his judg 
raent on the acts of the proudest and most powerful tyrants. The 
Press of England is still free. It is guarded by the free Constitution 
of our forefathers. It is guarded by the hearts and arms of English- 
men ; and, I trust I may venture to say, that, if it be to fall, it will fall 
only under the ruins of the British empire. It is an awful considera- 
tion. Gentlemen. Every other monument of European liberty has 
perished. That ancient fabric, which has been gradually raised by 
the wisdom and virtue of our fathers, still stands. It stands, thanks 
be to God ! solid and entire, — but it stands alone, ani it stands amid 
rjins ! Believing, then, as I do, that we are on the eve of a great 
atrugglo, — that this is only the first battle between reason and powei- 
— that you have now in your hands, committed to your trust, tho onls 



i66 THE STANDAKr tPEAKl-R. 

remains of tree discussion in Europe, now confined tc this kingdom , 
addressing you, therefore, as the guardians of the most important 
interests of mankind, — c^ivinced that the unfettered exercise of reason 
iepends more on your present verdict than on any other that was 
ever delivered by a jury, — I trust I may rely with confidence on the 
IsHue, I trust that you will consider yourselves as the advanced 
guard of liberty ; as having this day to fight the first battle cf free 
discussion against the most formidable enemy that it ever encountered ! 



9. THE INSTIGATORS OF TREASON, 1807. — IVilliam Wirt. 

William Wirt, one of the brightest ornaments of the American bar, was born at Bladensbui-g, 
Maryland, November 8th, 1772. The most memorable case in which hia talents as an advo- 
cate were exercised was the celebrated trial of Aaron Burr, in 1807, for treason, in which Wirt 
was retained as counsel for the Government. His e.xquisite description of the temptation of 
Blennerhrtssett by Burr is a, most graceful and masterly specimen of forensic art. In 181T Mr. 
Wirt was appointed Attorney General of the United States. He died February 18th, 1834. 

The inquiry is, whether presence at the overt act be necessary to 
make a man a traitor ? The Gentlemen say that it is necessary, — that 
be cannot be a principal in the treason, without actual presence. The 
framers of the Constitution, informed by the examples of Greece and 
Rome, and foreseeing that the liberties of this Republic might, one 
day or other, be seized by the daring ambition of some domestic 
isurper, have given peculiar importance and solemnity to the crime 
:f treason, by ingrafting a provision against it upon the Constitution. 
But tliey have done this in vain, if the construction contended for on 
the other side is to prevail. If it require actual presence at the scene 
of the assemblage to involve a man in the guilt of treason, how easy 
will it be for the principal traitor to avoid this guilt, and escape pun- 
ishment forever ! He may go into distant States, from one State to 
another. He may secretly wander, like a demon of darkness, from 
one end of the Continent to the other. He may enter into the confi- 
dence of the simple and unsuspecting. He may prepare the whole 
mechanism of the stupendous and destructive engine, put it in motion 
and let the rest be done by his agents. He may then go a hundred 
miles from the scene of action. Let him keep himself only from the 
scene of the assemblage, and the immediate spot of the battle, and he 
is innocent in law, while those he has deluded are to suffer the death 
of traitors I Who is the more guilty of this treason, the poor, weak, 
ieluded instruments, or the artful and ambitious man, who corrupted 
and misled tliem ? 

There is no comparison between his guilt and theii-s ; and yet yon 
lecure impunity to kirn., while they are to suffer death ! Is this rea 
eon ? Is this moral right ? No man, of a sound mind and heart, can 
doubt, for a moment, between the comparative guilt of Aaron Burr, the 
prime mover of +he whole mischief, and of the poor men on Blennor- 
hassett's Island, who called themselves " Burr's men." In the case 
}f murder, who is the more guilty, the ignorant, deluded perpetrator 
iv the abominable instigator ? Sir, give to the Constitution the con- 
ctruction contended for on the other aide, and you might ns vo.\i 



KOKENSIC AND JUDICIAL. 



ixpXiflge the crime of treason from your criminal code , nay, you had 
w^rter do it, for by this construction you hold out the lure of impunity 
to the most dangerous men in the community, men of ambition and 
talents, while you loose the vengeance of the law on the comparatively 
innocent. If treason ought to be repressed, I ask you, who is the 
tnore dango-ous and the more likely to commit it, the meie instni" 
ment, who applies the force, or the daring, aspiring, elevated geniaa, 
who devises the whole plot, but acts behind the scenes ^ 



10. BUltK AND BLENNERIIASSETT. — W'iWam fFirt 

A. PLAIN man, who knew nothing of the curious transmutations 
whir h the wit of man can work, would be very apt to wonder by what 
kind of legerdemain Aaron Burr had contrived to shuffle himself down 
to the bottom of the pack, as an accessory, and turn uu poor Blenner- 
hassett as principal, in this treason. Who, then, is Aaron Burr, and 
what the part which he has borne in this transaction ? He is its 
author, its projector, its active executor. Bold, ardent, restless and 
aspiring, his brain conceived it, his hand brought it into action. 

Who is Blennerhassett ? A native of Ireland, a man of letters, «vhc 
fled from the storms of his own country, to find quiet in om-s. On 
his arrival in America, he retired, even from the population of the 
Atlantic States, and sought quiet and solitude in the bosom of our 
western forests. But he brought with him taste, and science, and 
wealth ; and " lo, the desert smiled ! " Possessing himself of a beau- 
tiful island in the Ohio, he rears upon it a palace, and decorates it 
with every romantic embellishment of fancy. A shrubbery, that Shen- 
stone might have envied, blooms around him. Music, that might have 
charmed Calypso and her nymphs, is his. An extensive library spreads 
its treasures before him. A philosophical apparatus offers to him all 
the secrets and mysteries of nature. Peace, tranquillity and innocence, 
shod their mingled delights around him. And, to crown the enchant- 
ment of the scene, a wife, who is said to be lovely even beyond her 
sex, and graced with every accomplishment that can render it irresist- 
ible, had blessed him with her love, and made him the father of several 
children. The evidence would con\Tince you. Sir, that this is but a 
fiint picture of the real life. In the midst of all this peace, this inno- 
ceneo, and this tranquillity, — this feast of the mind, this pure banquet 
Df the heart, — the destroyer comes. He comes to turn this paradise 
into a heil. Yet tne flowers do not wither at his approach, and no 
monitory snudclermg through the bosom of their unfortunate possessor 
varus mm of thu^ ruui that is coming upon him. A stranger presents 
'iimsoli. Lt is \iron Burr. Introduced to their civilities by the 
lign ra.nK- vhicii ac tiad lately held in his country, he soon finds his 
way to thoiih<^arts, by the dignity and elegance of his demeanor, the 
dght and bet-utv of his conversation, and the seductive and faseinatina 
■oower of his address. The conquest was not difficult. Innocence is 
»ver sinple a.nd credulous. Conscious of no designs itself, it suspects 



368 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

none in othere. It wears no guards before its breast. Every dooi 
and portal and avenue of the heart is thrown open, and all who choo96 
it enter. Such was the state of Eden, when the serpent entered it« 
bowers ! 

The prisoner, in a more engaging form, winding himself into tha 
open and unpractised heart of the unfortunate Blennerhassett, found 
but little difficulty in changing the native character of that heart, and 
the objects of its affliction. By degrees, he infuses into it the poison 
of his own ambition. He breathes into it the fire of his own courage ; 
a daring and desperate thirst for glory ; an ardor, panting for all the 
&tjrm, and bustle, and hurricane of life. In a short time, the whole 
man is changed, and every object of his former delight relinquished. 
No more he enjo5^s the tranquil scene : it has become flat and insipid 
to his taste. His books are abandoned. His retort and crucible are 
thrown aside. His shrubbery blooms and breathes its fragrance upon 
the air in vain — he likes it not. His ear no longer drinks the rich 
melody of music ; it longs for the trumpet's clangor, and the cannon's 
roar. Even the prattle of his babes, once so sweet, no longer aiFects 
him; and the angel smile of his wife, which hitherto touched his 
bosom with ecstasy so unspeakable, is now unfelt and unseen. Greater 
objects have taken possession of his soul. His imagination has been 
dazzled by visions of diadems, and stars, and garters, and titles of 
nobility. He has been taught to burn with restless emulation at the 
names of great heroes and conquerors, — of Cromwell, and Caesar, and 
Bonaparte. His enchanted island is destined soon to relapse into a 
wilderness ; and, in a few months, we find the tender and beautiful 
partner of his bosom, whom he lately " permitted not the winds of' 
summer " to visit too roughly," — we find her shivering, at midnight, 
on the wintry banks of the Ohio, and mJngling her tears with the 
torrents that froze as they fell. 

Yet this unfortunate man, thus deluded from his interest and his 
happiness, — thus seduced from the paths of innocence and peace, — 
thus confounded in the toils which were deliberately spread for him 
and overwhelmed by the mastering spirit and genius of another, — 
this man, thus ruined and undone, and made to play a subordinate pari 
in this grand drama of guilt and treason, — this man is to be called 
the principal offender ; while he, by whom he was thus plunged iu 
misery, is comparatively innocent, a mere accessory ! Is this reason 
Is it law ? Is it humanity ? Sir, neither the human heart nor thf 
human understandhig will bear a perversion so monstrous and absurd 
80 shocking to the soul ; so revolting to reason ! 



11 REPLY TO 5IR. WICKIIAM IN BURR'S TRIAL, 1807 — William WiH. 

In proceeding to answer the argument of the Gentleman, I will 
r,reat him with candor. If I misrepresent him, it ydW not be inteo- 
honally. I will not follow the example which he has set me, on i 
lory recent occasion. I will endeavor to meet *he Gentleman's prop 



I 



FOREXSIC AND JUDICIAL. — WEBSTER. 36S 

•eitions in tlieir full force, ind to answer them fairly. I will not, 
4i\ I am advancing towards them, with my mind's eye n.e:isure the 
height, breadth, and power of the proposition ;• if I find it beyond 
my str.ngth, halve it; if still beyond ray strength, quarter it ; if stiil 
Qecossary, subdivide it into eighths ; and when, by this process, I have 
reduced it to the proper standard, take one of these sections and tosa 
it with an air of elephantine strength and superiority. If I find 
niyi^elf capable of conducting, by a fair course of reasoning, any one 
of liis propositions to an absurd conclusion, I will not begin by stating 
that absurd conclusion as the proposition itself which I am going to 
encounter. I will not, in commenting on the Gentleman's authoritief*, 
thank the Gentleman, with sarcastic politeness, for introducing them, 
declare that they conclude directly against him, read just so much of 
the authority as serves the purpose of that declaration, omitting that 
which contains the true point of the case, which makes against me ; 
nor, if forced by a direct call to read that part also, will I content 
myself by running over it as rapidly and inarticulately as I can, throw 
down the book with a theatrical air, and exclaim, " Just as I said ! " 
when T know it is just as I had not said. 

I know that, by adopting these arts, T might raise a laugh at the 
Gentleman's expense ; but I should be very little pleased with myself, 
if I were capable of enjoying a laugh pi'ocured by such means. 1 
know, too that, by adopting such arts, there will always be those stand- 
ing around us, who have not comprehended the whole merits of the 
legal discussion, with whom I might shake the character of the G-en- 
tleman's science and judgment as a lawyer. I hope I shall never be 
capable of such a wish ; and I h^d hoped that the Gentleman himself 
felt so strongly that proud, that high, aspiring, and ennobling magna- 
nimity, which I had been told conscious tcxlents rarely fail to inspire, 
that he would bav^c disdained a poor and fleeting triumph, gained by 
means like these. 



12. QUILT CANNOT KEEP ITS OWN SKCRET. — Daniel Webster, on tke trial of J 
F. Knapp, lS30,/or murder. 

An aged man, without an enemy in the world, in his own house, 
and in his own bed, is made the victim of a butcherly murder, for mere 
pay. The fatal blow is ^aven ! and the victim passes, without a strug- 
gle or a motion, from the repose of sleep to the repose of death ! It 
is the assassin's purpose to make sure work. He explores* the wrist 
for the pulse. He feels for it, and ascertains that it beats no longer ! 
It is accomplished. The deed is done. He i-etreats, retraces his stef»s 
*A) t'ne window, passes out through it as he came in, and eseap-es. He 
'aa.s done the murder; — no eye has seen him, no ear has h^ard him. 
The secret is his own, — and it is safe ! 

Ah ! Gentlemen, that was a dreadful mistake. Such a secret can 
)e safe nowhere. The whole creation of God has* neither nook nor 
■iomer where the guUty can bestow it. and say it is safe. Not t<^ 
24 



570 THE STANDARD SPEAKEK. 

speak of that eye which glances through all disguises, and beholds 
3verything as in the splendor of noon, such secrets of guilt are 
never safe from detection, even by men. True it is, generally speak* 
ing that " murder will out." True it is, that Providence hath so. 
ordained, and doth so govern things, that those who break the great 
law of Heaven, by shedding man's blood, seldom succeed in avoiding 
discovery. Especially, in a case exciting so much attention as this, 
discovery mast come, and will come, sooner or later. A thousand eyes 
turn at once to explore every man, every thing, every circumstance, 
connected with the time and place ; a thousand ears catch every whis- 
per ; a thousand excited minds intensely dwell on the scene, shedding 
all their light, and ready to kindle the slightest circumstance into a 
blaze of discovery. Meantime, the guilty soul cannot keep its own 
Becret. It is false to itself; or, rather, it leeh an irresistible impulse 
of conscience to be true to itself. It labors under its guilty posses- 
sion, and knows not what to do with it. The human heart was not 
made for the residence of such an inhabitant. It finds itself preyed on 
by a torment, which it dares not acknowledge to God nor man. A 
vulture is devouring it, and it can ask no sympathy or assistance, either 
from Heaven or earth. The secret which the murderer possesses soon 
comes to possess him ; and, like the evil spirits of which we read, it 
overcomes him, and leads him whithersoever it will. He feels it beat- 
ing at his heart, rising to his throat, and demanding disclosure. He 
'jninks the whole'world sees it in his face, reads it in his eyes, and 
almost hears its workings in the very silence of his thoughts. It has 
become his master. It betrays his discretion, it breaks down his cour- 
age, it conquers his prudence. When suspicions, from without, begin 
to embarrass him, and the net of circumstance to entangle him, the 
fatal secret struggles, with still greater violence, to burst forth. It must 
be confessed ; — it will be confessed ; — there is no refuge from confes- 
sion but suicide — and suicide is confession ! 



13. MORAL POWER THE MOS'^ FORMIDABLE. —^vrfs-e McLean, 1S38, on enter- 
prises from the U. States against the British possessions in Canada. 

If there be any one line of policy in which all political parties 
agree, it is, that we should keep aloof from the agitations of other Gov- 
ernments ; that we shall not intermingle our national concerns with 
theirs ; jyid much more, that our citizens shall abstain from acts which 
lead the subjects of other Governments to violence and bloodshed. 
These violators of the Law show themselves to be enemies of their 
country, by trampling under foot its laws, compromising its honor and 
involving it in the most serious embarrassment with a foreign and 
friendly Nation. It is, indeed, lamentable to reflect, that such men, 
under such circumstances, may hazard the peace of the country. If 
they were to come out in array against their own Government, the con- 
sequence to it would be far less serious. In such an eflfort, they could 
QOt involve it in much bloodshed, or in a heavj expenditure, no; 



FORENSIC AND JUDICIAL. HUGO. 37 i 

i^ould its c immerce and creneral business be materiully injureci "But 
a war with u powerful Nation, with whom we have tlie most extensive 
relations, commercial and social, would bring down upon our countrj 
the heaviest calamity. It would dry up the sources of its prosperity, 
and deluge it in blood. 

The great principle of our Republican institutions cannot be propa- 
gated by the sword. This can be done by moral force, and not phys- 
ical. If we desire the political regeneration of oppressed Nations we 
must show them the simplicity, the grandeur, and the freedom, of our 
own Government. We must recommend it to the intelligence and 
virtue of other Nations, by its elevated and enlightened action, its 
purity, its justice, and the protection it alFords to all its citizens, and 
the liljerty they enjoy. And if, in this respect, we shall be faithful to 
the high bequests of our fathers, to ourselves, and to posterity, we 
shall do more to liberate other Grovernments, and emancipate their 
subjects, than could be accomplished by millions of bayonets. This 
moral power is what tyrants have most cause to dread. It addresses 
itself to the thoughts and the judgments of men. No physical force 
can arrest its progress. Its approaches are unseen, but its conse- 
quences are deeply felt. It enters garrisons most strongly fortified, 
and operates in the palaces of kings and emperors. We should cher- 
ish this power as essential to the preservation of our own Government ; 
and as the most efficient means of ameliorating the condition of our 
race. And this can only be done by a reverence for the laws, and by 
the exercise of an elevated patriotism. But, if we trample under our 
feet the laws of our countrj', — if we disregard the faith of treaties, and 
.our citizens engage without restraint in military enterprises against the 
peace of other Governments, — we shall be considered and treated, and 
■ustly, too, as a Nation of pirates. 



14. THE DEATH VYJ^kV^Y. — Original Translation from Victor Hugo. 
From Victor Hugo's si)eech at the trial of his son, Charles Hugo, in Paris, June lltli, 18&1, 
:hargecl with violating the respect due to the laws, in an article in the journal " L' Evone- 
ment," upon the execution of Montcliarmont, a sentenced criminal. Notwithstanding the 
Silher's eln(|ueiit appeal, Charles Hugo was found " guilty " by the Jury, and sentenced to six 
months' imprisonment, and a fine of tive hundred francs. 

Gentlemen of the Jury, if there is a culprit here, it is not my son, 
— it is myself, — it is I ! — I, who for these last twenty-five years have 
opposed capital punishment, — have contended for the inviolability of 
human life, — have committed this crime, for which my son is now 
arraigned. Here I denounce myself, Mr. Advocate General ! I have 
committed it under all aggravated circumstances ; deliberately, repeat- 
edly, teaaoiously. Yes, this old and absurd lex talidnis — this law 
of blood for blood — I have combated all my life — all my life. Gen- 
tlemen of the Jury ! And, while I have breath, I will continue t<> 
combat it, by all my efforts as a writer, by all my words and aL 
oiy votes as a legislator ! I declare it before the cruv'ifix ; before 
that victim of the penalty of death, who sees and hears us ; before 
that gibbet, to which, two thousand years ago, for the eternyl iastruc 
tioE of the generations, the human law nailed the Divine ! 



'il2 THE STANDARD SPEAKER, 

In all that- my soia has written on the subject of capital punishment 
• and for writing and publishing which he is now before you on triai 
- — in all that he has written, he has merely proclaimed the sentimenw 
^yith which, from his infancy. I have inspired him. Gentlemen Jurors, 
the right to criticize a law, and to criticize it severely, — especially a 
penal law, — is placed beside the duty of amelioiation, like the torch 
beside the work under the artisan's hand. This right of the journalist 
(B as sacred, as necessary, as imprescriptible, as the right of the legis- 
lator. 

Wliat are the circumstances ? A man, a convict, a senteneeii 
wretch, is dragged, on a certain morning, to one of our public squares. 
There he finds the scaffold ! He shudders, he struggles, he refuses to 
die. He is young yet — only twenty-nine. Ah ! I know what you 
will say, — " He is a murderer ! " But hear me. Two officers seize 
him. His hands, his feet, are tied. He thi-ows off the two officers. A 
frightful struggle ensues. His feet, bound as they are, become entan- 
gled in the ladder. He uses the scaffold against the scaffold ! The 
struggle is prolonged. Horror seizes on the crowd. The officers, — 
sweat and shame on their brows, — pale, panting, terrified, despairing, 
— despairing with I know not what horrible despair, — shrinking under 
that public reprobation which ought to have visited the penalty, and 
spared the passive instrument, the executioner, — the officers strive 
savagely. The victim clings to the scaffold, and shrieks for pardon. 
His clothes are torn, — his shoulders bloody, — still he resists. At 
length, after three quarters of an hour of this monstrous effort, of this 
spectacle without a name, of this agony, — agony for all, be it under- 
stood, — agony for the assembled spectators as well as for the con- 
denmed man, — after this age of anguish. Gentlemen of the Jury, th ;y 
take back the poor wretch to his prison. The People breathe ag^m. 
The People, naturally merciful, hope that the man will be spared. 
But no, — the guillotint, though vanquished, remains standing. There 
it frowns all day, in the midst of a sickened population. And at night, 
the officers, reinforced, drag forth the wretch again, so bound that he 
is but an inert weight, — they drag him forth, haggard, bloody, weep- 
ing, pleading, howling for life, — calling upon God, calling upon his 
father and mother, — for like a very child had this man become in the 
prospect of death, — they drag him forth to execution. He is hoisted 
6n to the scaffold, and his head falls ! — And then through every con- 
Bcienco runs a shudder. Never had legal murder appeared with au 
aspect so indecent, so abominable. All feel jointly implicated in ihe 
deed. It is at this moment that from a young man's breast escapes a 
cry, wrung from his very heart, — a cry of pity and of anguish, — a 
cry of horror, — a cry of humanity. And this cry you would punish ! 
And, in face of the appalling facts which 1 have narrated, jou wouk' 
'iay to the, guillotine, " Thou art right ! " and to Pity, saintly Pity 
' Thou art wrong ! " Gentlemen of the Jury, it cannot be ! Gen 
>iprjen, I have finished. 



PART FIFTH. 



POLITICAL AND OCCASIONAL. 



1. TlIE EXAMPLE OF AMERICA. — Francis Jeffrey. Born, 1113 ; died, IHbd 

IIow absurd are the sophisms and predictions by which the a \v<> 
■ Bates of existing abuses have, at all times, endeavored to create a jeal- 
ousy and apprehension of reform ! You cannot touch the most corrupt 
and imbecile Government, without involving society in disorders at 
once frightful and contemptible, and reducing all things to the levci 
of an insecure, and ignoble, and bloody ecjuality ! Such are the rea- 
sonings by which we are now to be persuaded that liberty is incom- 
patible with private happiness or national prosperity. To these we 
need not now answer in words, or by reference to past and questiona- 
ble examples ; but we put them down at once, and trample them con- 
temptuously to the earth, by a short appeal to the existence and 
eondition of America ! What is the country of the universe, I 
would now ask, in which property is most sacred, or industry most 
sure of its reward ? Where is the authority of law most omnipotent? 
Where is intelligence and wealth most widely diffused, and most rap- 
idly progressive ? Where, but in America ? — in America, who laid 
the foundation of her Republican Constitution in a violent, radical, 
sanguinary Revolution ; America, with her fundamental Democracy, 
made more unmanageable, and apparently more hazardous, by being 
broken up into I do not know how many confederated and independent 
Democracies ; America, with universal suffrage, and yearly elections, 
with a free and unlicensed Press, without an established Priesthood, 
an hereditary Nobility, or a permanent Executive, — with all that ie 
combustible, in short, and pregnant with danger, on the hypothesis 
of Tyranny, and without one of the cheeks or safeguards by whicb 
alone, they contend, the benefits or the very being of society cnn be 
maintained ! 

There is something at once audacious and ridiculous in raaintainmg • 
such doctrines, in the face of such experience. Nor can anything be 
founded on the novelty of these institutions, on the pretence that they 
have not yet been put fairly to their trial. America has gone on 
prospering under them for forty years, and has exhibited a picture of 
uninterrupted, rapid, unprecedented advances in wealth, popuUtiDU, 
lutelligerce and concord; while all the arbitrary Ooveruments of th« 



d74 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

Old World have been overrun with bankruptcies, eonspiraoies rwbel 
lions, and Revolutions ; and are at this moment trembling in the coD' 
Bciousness of their insecurity, and vainly endeavoring to repress irre- 
pressible discontents, by confederated violence and terror. 



■ 2 FALSE NOTIONS OF GOVERNMEl'iT A'lGOB. — fie?;. Syd^itj-SmiA 

J CANNOT describe the horror and disgust -which I felt at hoarin| 
Mr. Perceval call upon the then Ministry for measures of vigor in 
Ireland. If I lived at Hampstead upon stewed meats and claret, —if 
I walked to church, every Sunday, before eleven young gentlemen of 
my own begetting, with their faces washed, and their hair pleasingly 
combed, — if the Almighty had blessed me with every earthly comfort, 
— how awfully would I pause before I sent for the flame and the sword 
over the cabins of the poor, brave, generous, open-hearted peasants of 
Ireland ! 

How easy it is to shed human blood ; how easy it is to persuade 
ourselves that it is our duty to do so, and that the decision has cosi 
us a severe struggle ; how much, in all ages, have wounds and shrieki 
and teai-s been the cheap and vulgar resources of the rulers of man- 
kind ; how difficult and how noble it is to gx)vern in kindness, and tc 
found an empire ujwn the everlasting basis of justice and affection I 
But what do men call vigor ? To let loose hussars, and to bring up 
artillery, to govern with lighted matches, and to cut, and push, and 
prime, — I call this, not vigor, but the sloth of cruelty and ignorance. 
The vigor I love consists in finding out wherein subjects are aggrieved, 
in relieving them, in studying the temper and genius of a People, in 
consulting their prejudices, in selecting proper persons to lead and 
manage them, in the laborious, watchful, and difficult task of increas- 
ing public happiness, by allaying each particular discontent. In this 
way only will Ireland ever be suMued. But this, in the eyes of i\li . 
Perceval, is imbecility and meanness ; — houses are not broken open 
women are not insulted, the People seem all to be happy, — they ar 
not ridden over by horses, and cut by whips. Do you call this \igor 
Is this Government ? 



a REJECTION OF THE REFORM BILL, 1931. — Rev. Sydnej^ Smith. 

Mr. Chairman, I feel most deeply the rejection of the Reform Bill 
by the Lords, because, by putting the two Houses of Parliament in 
collision with each other, it will impede the public business, and 
diminish the public prosperity. I feel it as a churchman, because I 
cannot but Hush to see so many dignitaries of the Church arrayed 
against the wishes and happiness of the People. I feel it, more than 
all, because I believe it will sow the seeds of deadly hatrt^ between 
the aristocracy and the great mass of the People. The loss of the BiU 
I do not feel, and for the best of all possible reasons, — because I have 
Qot the slightest idea that it is lost. I have no more doubt, betbrf 



POUTICAL AND OCCASIONAL. MAZZIXl. 375 

the expiration of the winter, that this Bill will pass, than I have that 
the iirnmal tax bills will pass ; and greiter certainty than this no nian 
«an luiAe, for Franklin tells us there are but two things certain in thi? 
world, — death and taxes. As for the possibility of the House of 
Lords preventing, ere long, a reform of Parliament, I hold it to be the 
most absurd notion that ever entered into human imagination. I «^ 
not mean to be disrespectful ; but the attempt of the Lords to stop the 
progress of reibrm reminds me very fbrcibh' of the great storm of 
Bidmouth, and of the conduct of the excellent Mrs. Partington on that 
occasion. In the winter of 1824, there set in a great flood upon that 
town ; the tide rose to an incredible height ; the waves rushed in 
upon the houses, and everything was threatened with destruction, la 
the midst of this sublime and terrible storm. Dame Partington, who 
lived upon the beach, was seen at the door of her house, with mop and 
pattens, trundling her mop, squeezing out the sea-water, and vigor- 
ously pushing away the Atlantic Ocean ! The Atlantic was roused ; 
Mrs. Partington's spirit was up ; but I need not tell you that the con- 
test was unequal. The Atlantic Ocean beat Mrs. Partington. She 
was excellent at a slop, or a puddle, but she should not have meddled 
with a tempest. 

Gentlemen, be at your ease, — be quiet and steady. You will beat 
Mrs. Partington. 



4. ADDRESS TO THE YOUNG MEN OF ITALY.— Joseph Mazzint. 

The following extract, translated from the Italian, is from an impassioned Address, delivered 
by Mazzini, at Milan, on the '25th of July, 1848, at the request of a National Association, on the 
occasion of a solemn commemoration of the death of the brothers Bandi^ra, and their fellow- 
martyrs, at I 



When I was commissioned by you, young men, to proffer in thia 
temple a few words consecrated to the memory of the brothers Ban- 
diera, and their fellow-martyrs at Cosenza, I thought that some one 
of those who heard me might perhaps exclaim, with noble indignation, 
" Why thus lament over the dead ? The martyrs of liberty are only 
worthily honored by winning the battle they have begun. Cosenza, 
the land where they fell, is enslaved ; Venice, the city of their birth, 
is begirt with strangers. Let us emancipate them ; and, until that 
moment, let no words pass our lips, save those of war." But another 
thought arose, and suggested to me. Why have we not conquered ? 
Why is it that, whilst our countrymen are fighting for independence in 
the North of Italy, liberty is perishing in the South ? Why is it 
that a war which should have sprung to the Alps with the bound of a 
lion has dragged itself along for four months with the slow, uncertaia 
motion of the scorpion surrounded by the circle of fire ? How has the 
rapid and powerful intuition of a People newly arisen to life been 
converted into the weary, helpless effort of the sick man, turning froip 
wde to side ? 

Ah ! had we all arisen in the sanctity of the idea for which oui 
ttiartyrs died ; had the holy standard of their faith preceded our youtl 



S78 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

tc battle ; had we made of our every thought an action, and of c^ 
every action a thought ; had we learned from them that liberty anc 
independence are one ; — we should not now have war but victory 
Cosenza would not be compelled to venerate the memory of her mar- 
tyrs in secret, nor Venice be restrained from honoring them with a 
monument ; and we, here gathered together, might gladly invoke 
those sacred names, without uncertainty as to our future destiny, or a 
cloud of sadness on our brows ; and might say to those precursor souis, 
^'■Rejoice, for your spirit is incarnate in your brethren,, and they 
arc worthy of you." Could Attilio and Eniilio Bandiera, and thoii 
fellow-martyrs, now arise from the grave and speak to you, they would, 
believe me, address you, though with a power very different from that 
given to me, in counsel not unlike that which now I utter. 

Love ! Love is the flight of the soul towards God ; towards the 
great, the sublime, and the beautiful, which are the shadow of God 
upon earth. Love your family ; the partner of your life ; those around 
you, ready to share your joys and sorrows ; the dead, who were dear 
to you, and to whom you were dear. Love your country. It is yom 
name, your glory, your sign among tho Peoples. Give to it your 
thought, your counsel, your blood. You are twenty-four millions of 
men, endowed with active, splendid faculties ; with a tradition of 
glory, the envy of the Nations of Europe ; an immense future ia 
before you, — your eyes are raised to the loveliest Heaven, and around 
you smiles the loveliest land in Europe ; you are encircled by the Alps 
and the sea, boundaries marked out by the fi'^ger of God for a people 
of giants. And you must be such, or nothing. Let not a man of that 
twenty-four millions remain excluded from the fraternal bond which 
shall join you together ; let not a look be raised to that Heaven, which 
is not that of a free man. Love humanity. You can only ascertain 
your own mission from the aim placed by God before humanity at 
large. Beyond the Alps, beyond the sea, are other Peoples, now 
fighting, or preparing to Sght, the holy fight of independence, of nation- 
ality, of liberty; other Peoples striving by different routes to reach 
the same goal. Unite with them, — they will unite with you. 

And love, young men, love and reverence the Ideal ; it is the coun- 
try of the spirit, the city of the soul, in which all are brethren who 
believe in the inviolability of thought, and in the dignity of our immor- 
tal natui-es. From that high sphere spring the principles which 
ftlone can redeem the Peoples. Love enthusiasm, — the pure dreams 
of tit tirgin soul, and the lofty visions of early youth ; for they are 
the perfume of Paradise, which the soul preserves in issuing from the 
hands of its Creator. Respect, above all things, your conscience ; 
aave upon your lips the truth that God has placed in your hearts ; 
and, while working together in harmony in all that tends to the eniai}« 
eipation of our soil, even with those who differ from you, yet ever beai 
erect yoiar own banner, and boldly promulgate your faith. 

Such words, young men, would the martyrs of Cosenza have spokep, 
had tliovbeea living amongsf you. And here, where, perhaps, invokea 



POLITICAL AND 0CCA3I0^AL. — KOSSUTH. 371 

.>y our love, their holy spirits hover near ur,, J call upon you to gathej 
ihom up in your hearts, and to make of them a treasure amid tk<i 
Btorms that yet threaten you; but which, with the name of om 
martyrs on your lips, and their faith in your hearts, you will over 
'X>me. 

God be witL you, and bless Italy ! 



{. APPEAL TO THE HUNGARIANS, 1849. — Louis Konsutk. 

Our Fatherland is in danger ! Citizens ! to arms ! to arms . 
Unless the whole Nation rise up, as one man, to defend itself, all the 
noble blood already shed is in vain ; and, on the ground where the 
ashes of our ancestors repose, the Russian knout will rule over an 
enslaved People ! Be it known to all Hungary, that the Austrian 
Emperor has let loose upon us the barbarous hordes of Russia ; that 
a Russian army of forty-six thousand men has broken into our 
country fi-om Gallicia, and is on the march ; that another has entered 
Transylvania ; and that, finally, we can expect no foreign assistance, as 
the People that sympathize with us are kept down by their rulers, 
and gaze only in dumb silence on our struggle. We have nothing tc 
rest our hopes upon, but a righteous God, and our own strength. If 
we do not put forth that strength, God will also forsake us. 

Hungary's straggle is no longer our struggle alone. It is the 
struggle of popular freedom against tyranny. Our victory is the 
rictory of freedom, — our fall is the fall of freedom. God has chosen 
as to free the Nations from bodily servitude. In the wake of oui 
victory will follow liberty to the Italians, Germans, Poles, Vallachians. 
Sclavonians, Servians, and Croatians. With our fall goes down the 
star of freedom over all. People of Hungary ! will you die under 
the extermiaating sword of the savage Russians ? If not, defend 
yourselves ! Will you look on while the Cossacks of the far North 
tread under foot the bodies of your fathers, mothers, wives and 
children ? If not, defend yourselves ! Will you see a part of your 
fellow-citizens sent to the wilds of Siberia, made to serve in the wars 
of tyrants, or bleed under the murderous knout V If not, defend 
yourselves ! Will you behold your villages in flames, and your har- 
vests destroyed ? Will you die of hunger on the land which your 
sweat has made fertile ? If not, defend yourselves ! 

We call upon ^he People, in the name of God and the Country, ttr 
rise up in arms. In virtue of our powers and duty, we order a gen- 
»ral crusade of the People against the enemy, to be declared from 
every pulpit and from every town-house of the country, and made 
known by the continual ringing of bells. One great effort, and the 
country is forever saved ! We have, indeed, an army which numbers 
some two hundred thousand determined men; but the struggle is nfl 
longer one between two hostile camps ; it is the struggle of tyranny 
against freedom, — cf barbarism against all free Nations Thereiow 



878 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

toast all the People seize arms and support (he arrajj that, thw 
anited, the victory of fi-eedom for Europe may be won. Fly, then. 
united with the army, to arms, every citizen of the land, and thf 
victory is sure ! 



e. THE CONTENTMENT OF EUROPE. — A'ossMiA, iV^ot;. 12.. 1851. 

The question, the comprehensive question, is, whether Europe 
ghall be ruled by the principle of freedom, or by the principle of des- 
potism, — by the principle of centralization, or by the principle of 
self-government. Shall freedom die away for centuries, and mankind 
become nothing more than the blind instrument of the ambition of 
some few, — or shall the print of servitude be wiped out from the brow 
of humanity, and mankind become noble in itself, and a noble instru- 
ment to its own forward progress ? Woe, a hundred-fold woe, to every 
Nation, which, confident in its proud position of to-day, would care- 
lessly regard the comprehensive struggle of those great principles I 
If is the mythical struggle between Heaven and Hell. Woe, a 
thousand-fold woe, to every Nation which would not embrace, within 
its sorrows and its cares, the future, but only the present tim*} ! In 
the flashing of a moment the future becomes present, and the objects 
nf our present labors have passed away. As the sun throws a mist 
before the sun rises, so the spirit of the future is seen in the events 
of the present. 

A philosopher was once questioned, how could he prove the exist- 
ence of God ? " Why," answered he, " by opening my eyes. God is 
seen everywhere, — in the growth of the grass, and in the movement 
of the stars ; in the warbling of the lark, and in the thunder of 
Heaven." Even so I prove that the decisive struggle in mankind's 
destiny draws near. I appeal to the sight of your eyes, to the puls- 
ations of your hearts, and to the judgments of your minds. How blind 
are those who assert that the continent of Europe, but for the revolu 
tionary acts of certain men, would be quiet and contented ! Con- 
tented ? With what ? With oppression and servitude ? France 
contented, with its Constitution subverted ? Germany contented, witl 
being but a fold of sheep, pent up to be shorn by some thirty petty 
tyrants ? Switzerland contented, with the threatening ambition of 
sncroaching despots ? Italy contented, with the King of Naples ? — 
or with the priestly Government of Rome, the worst of human inven- 
ti 111 ' Austria, Rome, Prussia, Dalmatia, contented with having 
been di ivon to butchery, and, after having been deceived, plundered, 
oppressed, and laughed at as fools ? Poland contented with being 
murdered ^ Hungary, my poor Hungary, contented with being more 
than murdered — buried alive? — for it is alive*! Russia contented 
with slavery ? Vienna contented ? Lombardy, Pesth, Milan, Venice, 
Prasrue, contented ? — contented with having been ignominiouslj 
bra;»ded, burned, plundered, sacked, and its population butcberwl 



rOU-TCAL AND OCCASIONAL. — KOSSUTH. ^7^ 

Half of the European continent contented with the scaffold, with tht 
hangman, with the prison, with having no political rights at all, 
but huviDg to pay innumerable millions tor tlie hiirhly beneficial pur- 
pose of being kept in a state of s^erlUoni ? That is the condition of 
the continent, — and is it not ridiculous and absurd in men to prut€ 
about individuals disturbing the peace and tranquillity of Europe 1 
Ah I Gentlemen, humanity has a nobler destiny than to be the foot- 
stool to tbe ambition of certain families. Let the House of Austria 
trust to Its bayonets and its Czar. The People of Hungary and my- 
self — we trust to God ! I know that the light has spread, and even 
bayonets think; I know that all the Czars of the world are but 
mean dust in the hand of God; and so I firmly hope, — nay, I am 
certain, — 1 shall yet see Hungary independent and free ! 



7. HEROISM OF THE HUNGARIAN PEOVLE. — Kossutk, Nov. 12, 1851. 

Gentlemen have said that it was I who inspired the Hungarian 
People. I cannot accept the praise. No, it was not I who inspired 
the Hungarian People. It was the Hungarian People who inspired 
me. Whatever I thought, and still think, — whatever I felt, and 
still feel, — is but the pulsation of that heart which in the breast of 
my People beats I The glory of battle is for the historic leaders. 
Theirs are the laurels of hnmortality. And yet, in encountering the 
danger, they knew that, alive or dead, their names would, on the lips 
of the People, forever live. How different the fortune. — how nobler, 
how purer, the heroism, — of those children of the People, who went 
forth freely to meet death in their country's cause, knowing that 
where they fell they would lie, undistinguished and unknown, — their 
names unhonored and unsung ! Animated, nevertheless, by the love 
of freedom and fatherland, they went forth calndy, singing their 
National anthems, till, rushing upon the batteries, whose cross-fire 
vomited upon them death ami destruction, they took them without 
fii-ing a shot, — those who fell falling with the shout, " Hurrah for 
Hungary ! " And so they died by thousands — the unnamed demi- 
gods ! Such is the People of Hungary. Still it is said, it is I who 
have inspired them. No! — a thousand times, no ! It is they whc 
have inspired me. 

8. "IN A JUST CXVSE." — Kossuth, Dec. 11,1851. 

To prove that Washington never attached to his doctrine of new- 
trality more than the sense of temporary policy, I refer to one of his 
iettera, written to Lafayette, wherein he says : — " Let us only have 
twenty years of peace, and our country will come to such a degree of 
power and wealth that we will be able, in a just cause, to dety what- 
ever power on earth." 

*' In a just cause ! " Now, in the name of eternal truth, and bj 
&U ihat is sacred and dear to man. since the history of mankind v 



ftSC THK STANDARD SPEAKER. 

recorded tnere has been i-o cause more just than the cause cf Huik 
gary ! rJever was there a People, without the slightest reason, more 
sacrilegiously, more treacherously, and by fouler means, attacked than 
Hungary ! Never have crime, cursed ambition, despotism and 
violence, in a more wicked manner, united to crush down freedom, and 
the rery life, than against Hungary ! Never was a country more 
mortally outraged than Hungary. AH your sufferings, all your com* 
plaints, which, with so much right, drove your forefathers to take up 
arms, are but slight grievances, compared with those immense, deep 
wounds, out of which the heart of Hungary bleeds ! If the cause 
of my people is not suiSciently just to insure the protection of God, 
and the support of good-willing m.en, then there is no just cause, and 
no justice on Earth ; then the blood of no new Abel will move 
towards Heaven ; the genius of charity, Christian love and justice, 
will mourningly fly the Earth ; a heavy curse will upon mortality fall, 
oppressed men despair, and only the Cains of humanity walk proudly, 
with impious brow, above the ruins of Liberty on Earth ! 

You have attained that degree of strength and consistency, when 
your less fortunate brethi'en of mankind may well claim your broth- 
erly, protecting hand. And here I stand before you, to plead the 
cause of these, your less fortunate brethren — the cause of humanity, 
I may succeed, or I may fail. But I will go on, pleading with that 
faith of martyrs by which mountains were moved ; and I may dis- 
please you, perhaps ; still I will say, with Luther, " May God help 
me — / can do no otherwise ! " V/oe, a thousand-fold woe, to 
humanity, should there nobody on earth be to maintain the laws of 
humanity ! Woe to humanity, should even those who are as mighty 
as they are free not feel interested in the . maintenance of the laws 
of mankind, because they are laws, but only in so far as some scanty 
money interests would desire it ! Woe to humanity, if every despot 
of the world may dare to trample down the laws of humanity, and no 
free Nation arise to make respected these laws ! People of the 
United States, humanity expects tliat your glorious Republic will prove 
to the world that Ptepublics are formed on virtue. It expects to see 
pu the guardians of the law of humanity ! 



9. PEACE INCONSISTENT WPTE OPPRESSION. —jSro.wu<A,Dece7n6er 18, 1851. 

Is the present condition of Europe peace ? Is the scaffold peace ? 
- -the scaffold, on which, in Lombardy, the blood of three thousand 
seven hundred and forty-two patriots was spilled during three short 
years ! Is that peace ? Are the prisons of Austria, filled with 
patriots, peace ? Or is the murmur of discontent from all the Nations 
peace ? I believe the Lord has not created the world to be in such a 
peaceful condition. I believe He has not created it to be the prison 
of humanity, or the dominion of the Austrian jailer. No! The 
pm«ent oondition of the world is not peace ! It is a conditiam of 



POUnCAL AND OCCASIONAL. -BUL.VER. 381 

tppress'ion on Ihe European Continent, and because there h this condi« 
kion of oppression there cannot be peace ; for so long as men and 
Natioas are oppressed, and so long as men and Nations are discon- 
tented, there cannot be peace — there cannot be tranquillitj. War, 
like a volcano, boiling everlastingly, will, at the slightest opportunity, 
oreak out again, and sweep away all the artificial props of peace, and 
of those interests which on peace depend. Europe is continuallj 
a great battle-field, — a great barrack. Such is its condition ; and, 
therefore, let not those who call themselves men of peace say they wiL 
not help Europe because they love peace ! Let them confess truly 
that they are not men of peace, but only the upholders of the oppres- 
sion of Nations. With me and with my principles is peace, because 1 
will always faithfully adhere to the principles of liberty ; and only on 
the principles of liberty can Nations be contented, and only with the 
contentment of Nations can there be peace on the earth. With me 
and with my principles there is peace, — lasting peace, — consistent 
veace ! With the tyrants of the world there is oppression, struggles, 
and war ! 



10. THE TWENTY-SECOND OF DECEMBER, 1620. —Sir Henry Bu/iver, ISoO. 

The history of that plain and simple sect, which has had so great an 
influence on the character of your People, stands forth as one of the 
loftiest among the many monuments which attest the truth of thati 
great Christian moral, " The proud shall be abased, the humble 
exalted." It convinces us, if at this day we wanted to be convinced, 
that it is not the mere will of arbitrary Princes, nor the vain bull of 
arrogant Pontiffs, that can lay prostrate the independence of the human 
mind. All assumption only breeds resistance, as all persecution only 
makes martyr3. AVho, indeed, at the period to which this day recalls 
us, were the mighty of the earth ? On the throne of England then 
sat a prince justly proud — if pride could ever rest upon sound 
foundations — of the triple crown which had recently become his 
family inheritance. In France the sceptre was held in the hands of a 
still haughtier racO; which ruled with supreme authority over the most 
gallant and chivalrous People in the world. What has become of the 
illustrious lines of these two royal houses, — of that of the sovereign 
who gloried in the " non-conPorniity bill," or that of those sovereigns 
amongst whose deeds are recorded the ma:ssacre of St. Bartholomew 
and the revocation of the edict of Nantes ? The crown of the Stuarts 
has melted into air in the one kingdom ; the sceptre of the iJourbona 
has been shattered into atoms in the other. But here, on this spot, 
where I am speaking, still stands, erect and firm, the pilgrim's staff 
From the bruised seed of the poor and persecuted Puritan has arisen 
one of the most powerful and prosperous empires in the woi'ld. Let 
:hat which is a warning unto others be a lesson unto you. 

Remember that, when your Pilgrim Fathers first started foi tbo 
imcriean shores, they trusted themselves to two vessels ■ tho oa« 



S82 THE STANDARD SPEAKKE, 

boasted in th°^ proiid name of Speedwell, the other had the gentle 
appellation of the Mayflower. Which arrived first at its destination ^ 
The vaunting Speedivell was obliged to put into port, while the modest 
Mayflower dashed gallantly across the ocean. You were simple and 
unpretending in the day of your weakness ; be never vain or arrogant 
In the day of your strength. You were superior to your adverKsity • 
you have only to be equal to your prosperity. And, if you ever wish 
to know the principal cause of the proud position you have already 
achieved, you may look for it confidently among the trials and difii- 
culties through which you have passed. Yes, if you have made your 
country, believe me, it is no less true that your country has made you. 
I grieve, whilst I rejoice, to say that it is amidst the general confu- 
sion of crude experiments, terrible uncertainties, mystic dreams, and 
ripening convulsions, that alone and singly is to be seen towering the 
common Genius of Albion, and of Albion's transatlantic children. No 
tempest, raised in the heated atmosphere of fantastic theory, clouds 
her brow ; no blood, spilt in civil butchery, bedaubs her garments ; no 
poisons, corroding the principles of public and domestic morality, tear 
her vitals. Serene and undisturbed, she moves onward firmly. Trade 
and agriculture strew her way with plenty ; law and religion march 
in her van ; order and freedom follow her footsteps. And here, at this 
sfjlemn m-oment, whilst pouring out our libations to the sacred memory 
of our sainted fathers — here., I invoke that Genius to bless the union 
of our kindred races, to keep steadfast in our hearts the pleasant 
recollections of the past, to blend gratefully in our minds the nobfe 
aspirations of the future, to hallow in one breath the twin altars we 
will raise in common to Memory and Hope ! — to " Old England and 
Young America ! " 



11. BRITISH AGGRESSIONS, 176S. — Josiah Quincy, Jr. Born, 1743 ; died, 1775. 

If there ever was a time, this is the hour for Americans to rouse 
themselves, and esert every ability. Their all is at hazard, and the 
die of fate spins doubtful. British taxations, suspensions of legisla- 
tures, and standing armies, are but some of the clouds which overshadow 
the northern world. Now is the time for this People to summon every 
aid, human and divine ; to exhibit every moral virtue, and call forth 
every Christian grace. The wisdom of the serpent, the innocence of 
the dove, and the intrepidity of the lion, with the blessing of God, will 
yet save us from the jaws of destruction. 

By the sweat of our brow we earn the little we possess ; from natuw 
we derive the common rights of man ; — and by charter we claim ths 
liberties of Britons ! Shall we — dare we — pusillanimously sur< 
render our birthright ? Is the obligation to our fathers discharged ? 
is the debt we owe posterity paid ? Answer me, thou coward, wha 
nidest thyself in the hour of trial ! — if there is no reward in this life, 
DO prize of glory in the next, capable of animating thy dastard soul 
*hin\ and tre-<nble, thou misn-eant ! at the whips and stripes thy maa 



rOLlTICAL A.-, J OCCASIONAL, PRESTON. 6b6 

ter shall lash thee with on earth, and the flames and scorpions thy 
ser-ond niaste- shall torment the^ with here;iftcr ! 0, ni y eountrj* 
men ! what will our children say, when they read the histury of 
those times, should they find we tamely gave away, without one nobk 
struggle, the most invaluable of earthly blessings ? As thoy arag the 
galling chain, will they not execrate us ? If we have any respect for 
things; sacred, any regard to the dearest treasure on earth, — if we 
have one tender sentiment for posterity, if we would not be despised 
by the whole world, — let us, in the most open, solemn manner and 
with determined fortitude, swear we will die, if we cannot livej 
freemen ! 



I 



12. ELOQUENCE AND LOQIO. — Wmiam C. Preston. 

OoR popular institutions demand a talent for speaking, and create a 
taste for it. Liberty and eloquence are united, in all ages. Where 
the sovereign power is found in the public mind and the public heart, 
eloquence is the obvious approacli to it. Power and honor, and all 
that can attract ardent and aspiring natures, attend it. The noblest 
instinct is to propagate the spirit, — " to make our mind the mind of 
other men," and wield the sceptre in the realms of passion. In the art 
of speaking, as in all other arts, a just combination of those qualities 
necessary to the end proposed is the true rule of taste. Excess is 
always wrong. Too much ornament is an evil, — too little, also. The 
one may impede the [jrogress of the argument, or divert attention from 
it, by the introduction of extraneous matter ; the other may exhaust 
attention, or weary by monotony. Elegance is in a just medium The 
safer side to err on is that of abundance, — as profusion is better than 
poverty ; as it is better to be detained by the beauties of a landscape, 
than by the weariness of the desert. 

It is commonly, but mistakenly, supposed that the enforcing of 
truth is most successfully eftected by a cold and formal logic ; but the 
subtleties of dialectics, and the forros of logic, may play as fantastic 
tricks with truth, as the most potent magic of Fancy. The attempt 
to apply mathematical prc-cislon to moral truths is always a failure, 
and generally a dangerous one. If man, and especially masses of men, 
were purely intellectual, then cold reason would alone be infiucntial to 
convince ; but our nature is most complex, and many of the great 
truths which it most concerns us to know are taught us by our 
instincts, our sentiments, our impulses, and our passions. . Even in 
regard to the highest and holiest of all truth, to know which concorna 
us here and hereafter, we are not permitted to approach its investiga- 
tion in the confidence of proud and erring reason, but are taught to 
Oocome as little children before we are worthy to receive it. It is to 
this complex nature that the speaker addresses himself, and the degree 
jf power with which all the elements are evoked is the criterion of the 
orator. His business, to be sure, is to convince, but more to persuade ; 
and most of all, to inspire with noble and generous passions It is th< 



3b4 THE STAN0AKD SPEAKER. 

cant of criticism, in all ages, to make a distinction between logic awl 
eloquence, and to stigmatize the latter as declamation. Logic ascer- 
tains the weight of an argument, Eloquence gives it momentum. Thf 
difference is that between the vis inertice of a mass of metal, and thij 
same ball hurled from the cannon's mouth. Eloquence is an argument 
alive and in motion, — the statue of Pygmalion inspired with vitality. 



13. SENDING RELIEF TO IRELAND, 1847.— 5. S. Prentiss. 

We have assembled, not to respond to shouts of triumph from the 
West,* but to answer the cry of want and suffering which comes from 
the East. The Old "World stretches out her arms to the New. The 
starving parent supplicates the young and vigorous child for bread. 
There lies, upon the other side of the wide Atlantic, a beautiftil island, 
famous in story and in song. Its area is not so great as that of the 
State of Louisiana, while its population is almost half that of the 
Union. It has given to the world more than its share of genius and 
of greatness. It has been prolific? in statesmen, warriors, and poets. 
Its brave and generous sons have fought successfully all battles but 
their own. In wit and humor it has no equal, while its harp, like its 
history, moves to tears, by its sweet but melancholy pathos. Into this 
fair region God has seen fit to send the most terrilole of all those fear- 
ful ministers who fulfil his inscrutable decrees. The earth has failed 
to give her increase ; the common mother has forgotten her offspring, 
and her breast no longer affords them their accustomed nourishment. 
Famine, gaunt and ghastly famine, has seized a nation in its strangling 
grasp ; and unhappy Ireland, in the sad woes of the present, forgets, 
for a moment, the gloomy history of the past. 

! it is terrible, in this beautiful world, which the good Goq 
has given us, and in which there is plenty for us all, that men should 
die of starvation ! You, who see, each day, poured, into the lap of 
your city, food sufficient to assuage the hungei- of a nation, can form 
but an imperfect idea of the horrors of famine. In battle, in the ful- 
ness of his pride and strength, little rer-ks the soldier whether the hiss 
mg bullet sings his sudden requiem, or the cords of life are severed by 
the sharp steel. But he who dies of himger wrestles alone, day aftei 
day, with his grim and unrelenting enemy. The blood recedes, the 
flesh deserts, the muscles relax, and the sinews grow powerless. At 
la,^t, the mind, which, at first, had bravely nei'ved itself for the contest, 
gives way, under the mysterious influences which govern its union with 
the body. Then he begins to doubt the existence of an overruling 
Providence ; he hates his fellow-men, and glares upon them with the 
longings of a cannibal, and, it may be, dies blaspheming ! 

Who will hesitate to give his mite to avert such awful results ? 
Surelv not the citizens of New Orleans, ever famed for deeds of benevo- 
ence and charity. Freely have your hearts and purses opened, here>> 

* An allusion to the victories in Mexico, the news of which had beer recezttlj 
woeived. 



POLITICAL AND OCCASIONAL. JIOCNTFORD. 385 

tofore, to the call of suffering humanity. Nobly did you /espcnd to 
oppressed Greece and to struggling Pohind. Within Erin's borders is 
an enemy more cruel than the Turk, more tyrannical than the Rus 
sian. Bread is the only weapon that can conquer him. Let us, then, 
load ships with this glorious munition, and, in tlie name of our common 
humanity, wage war against this despot Famine. Let us, in God's 
name, " cast our bread upon the waters," and if we are selfish enough 
to desire it back again, we may recollect the promise, that it shall 
return to us after many days. 



14. A PLEA FOR THE SAILOR. — William. Mountford. 

O, THE difference between sea and land ! The sailor lives a life of 
daily, hourly, momentary risk, and he reckons it by voyages. He 
goes on your errands, he dares dangers for you, he lives a str;^nge life 
for you. Think of what winter is at sea. Think of what it is to have 
the waves discharge themselves on a ship, with a roar like artillery, 
and a force not much less. Think of what it is for a sailor to be aloft 
m the rigging, holding on by a rope, wet with the rain, or numbed 
with the cold, and with the mast of the ship swaying, with the wind, 
like a reed. Think of what it is when men drop from the yard-arms 
into the sea, or when they are washed from the deck like insects. 
Think of what it is, day and night, without rest and without sleep, to 
strive against a storm, — against the might of wind and waves, - - 
every wave a mighty enemy to surmount. Think what it is to strike 
on a rock, — to shriek but once, and then, perhaps, be drowned. 
Think of the diseases that come of hardships at sea. Think of what it 
is to be sick in a lazaretto, — to lie dying in a foreign hospital. 
Think of all this, and then, perhaps, you will think rightly of what it 
is to be a sailor. 

Think of what you yourselves owe to the sailor. It is through his 
intervention that you are possessed of those comforts that make of a 
house a home. Live comfortably you cannot, — live at all, perhaps, 
you cannot, — without seamen will expose themselves for you, risk 
themselves for you, and, alas ! often, very often, drown, — drown in 
your service, — drown, and leave widows and orphans destitute. : 
what a consideration it is, that, so often, my happiness is from suffer- 
ing somewhere ! My saltation is from a death upon a cross. The 
church I worship in has every one of its pillars deep founded in a 
martyr's grave. The philosophy that delights me for its truth is what 
3f3nie wise man had first to learn in bitterness. My comforts are mine, 
many of them, througu other men's miseries. Commerce spread? the 
world about me with blessings, but not without there bemg shipwrecks 
from it on every coast, and deaths by drowning, — several every day, 
the year round. 

Ah! yes; to beg with me, to plead with me, for the widow and 
orphan of the mariner, there comes, fi-om many a place where seamen 
ha\ 8 died, a call, a prayer, a beseeching voice ; — a cry from the coas» 
25 



S86 THE STANDARD SPEAKEK. 

of Guinea, where there is fever evermore ; a cry from Arctic «ma 
where icebergs are death ; a cry from coral reefs, that ships are wrecked 
on horribly ; a cry from many a foreign city, where the sailor, as ks 
dies, speaks of his family, and is not understood ; a cry from mid- ocean, 
where many a sailor drops into a sudden grave ! They ask youi- help, 
your charity, for the widows and the orphans of those who, in times past, 
have gone down to the sea, — have gone down to the sea in ships ! 

15. OUR RELATIONS TO ENGLAND, 1824. — Edward £uere«. 

Who does not feel, what reflecting American does not acknowledge, 
the incalculable advantages derived to this land out of the deep foun- 
tains of civil, intellectual, and moral truth, from which we have drawn 
in England ? What American does not feel proud that his fathers 
were the countrymen of Bacon, of Newton, and of Locke ? Who does 
not kndw, that, while every pulse of civil liberty in the heart of the 
British empire beat warm and full in the bosom of our ancestors, the 
sobriety, the firmness, and the dignity, with which the cause of free 
Dvinciples struggled into existence liere, constantly found encourage- 
ment and countenance from the friends of liberty there ? Who does 
not remember, that, when the Pilgrims went over the sea, the prayers 
of the faithful British confessoi'S, in all the quarters of their disper- 
sion, went over with them, while thair aching eyes were strained till 
the star of hope should go up in the western skies ? And who will 
ever forget, that, in that eventful struggle which severed these youth- 
ful republics from the British crown, there was not heard, throughout 
our continent in arms, a voice which spoke louder for the rights of 
America than that of Burke, or of Chatham, within the walls of the 
British Parliament, and at the foot of the British throne ? No ; for 
myself, I can truly say, that, after my native land, I fcel a tenderness 
and a reverence for that of my fathers. Tho pride I take in my own 
coxmtry makes me respect that fi'om which we are sprung. In touch- 
ing the soil of England, I seem to return, like a descendant, to the old 
family seat, — to come back to the abode of an aged and venerable 
parent. I acknowledge this great consanguinity of nations. The 
sound of my native language, beyond the sea, is a music, to my ear, 
beyond the richest strains of Tuscan softness or Castilian majesty. I 
am not yet m a land of strangers, while surrounded by the manners, 
the habits, and the institutions, under which I have been brought up. 
I wander delighted through a thousand scenes, which the historians 
and the poets have made familiar to us, — of which the names are 
interwoven with our earliest associations. I tread with reverence the 
spots where I can retrace the footsteps of our suffering flithers. The 
pleasant land of their birth has a claim on my heart. It seems to me 
a classic, yea, a holy land ; rich in the memory of the great and good 
che champions and the martyrs of liberty, the exiled heralds of truth 
and richer, as the parent of this land of promise in the West. 

1 am not — I need not say I am not — the panegyrist of England 
X am cot dazzlecj ]iy her riches, nor awed by her power. The sceotre 



rOLITlCAL AND OCCASIONAL. EVERETT. 387 

'.he iflitre, and the coronet, — stars, garters, and blue ribbons, — seem 
oo me poor things for great men to contend ibr. Nor is my admiradcD 
nwakened by her armies, mastered for the battles of Europe; hei 
oavies, ovei-shadomng the ocean ; nor her empire, grasping the I'urthwt 
East, It is these, and the price of guilt and blood by which they are 
boo often maintained, which are the cause why no i'riend of liberty c-an 
salute her with undivided aftections. But it is the cradle and the 
refuge of free principles, though often persecuted ; the school of reli- 
gious liberty, the more precious for the struggles through which it haa 
passed ; the tombs of those who have reflected houor on all who speak 
the English tongue ; it is the birth-place of our fathers, the home of 
the Pilgrims; — it is these which I love and venerate in England. I 
ihould feai ashamed of an enthusiasm for Italy and Greece, did I not 
also feel it for a land like this. In an American, it would seem to me 
degenerate and ungrateful to hang with passion upon the traces of 
Homer and Virgil, and follow, without emotion, the nearer and plainer 
footsteps of Shakspeare and Milton. I should thiuk him cold in hia 
love for hJ9 native land who felt no melting in his heart for that other 
native country, which holds the ashes of his forefathers. 



I 



16. DIPERISHABILITY OF GREAT EXAMPLES. — £di«ara Euereii. 

To be cold and breathless, — to feel not and speak not, — this is not 
the end of existence to the men who have breathed their spirits into the 
institutions of their country, who have stamped their characters on the 
pillars of the age, who have poured their hearts' blood into the channels 
of the public prosperity. Tell me, ye who tread the sods of yon 
sacred height, is Warren dead ? Can you not still see him, not pale 
and prostrate, the blood of his gallant heart pouring out of his ghastly 
wound, but moving resplendent over the field of honor, with the rose 
of Heaven upon his cheek, and the fire of liberty in his eye ? Tell me, 
ye who make your pious pilgrimage to the shades of Vernon, is Wash- 
ington, indeed, shut up in that cold and narrow house ? That which 
made these men, and men like these, cannot die. The hand that traced 
the charter of Independence is, indeed, motionless ; the eloquent lips 
that sustained it are hushed ; but the lofty spirits that conceived, 
resolved, and maintained it, and which alone, to such men, " make :t 
1Mb to live," these cannot expire : 

" These shall resist the empire of decay, 
When time is o'er, and worlds have passed away ; 
Cold in the dust the perished heart may lie. 
But that which warmed it once can never die," 



17. CIVILIZATION OF AFRICA, 1SZ2. — Edward Everett. 

It is said that it is impossible to civilize Africa. Why? Wny is 
it impossible to civilize man in one part of the earth more than in 
another ? Consult history, . Was Italy — was Greece — the cradle 
Bl" civilization ? No. As far back %b the lights of tradition reach, 



388 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

Africa was the cradle of science, while Syria, and Greece, ami Itaiy 
were yet covered with darkness. As far back as we can trace th« 
first rudiments of improvement, they came from the very head waters 
of the Nile, far in the interior of Africa ; and there are yet to be 
found, in shapeless ruins, the monuments of this primeval civilization. 
To come down to a much later period, while the West and North of 
Europe were yet barbarous, the Mediterranean coast of Africa was 
filled with cities, academies, museums, churches, and a highly civilized 
population. What has raised the Gaul, the Belgium, the Germany, 
the Scandinavia, the Britain, of ancient geography, to their present 
improved and improving condition ? Africa is not now sunk lower than 
most of those countries were eighteen centuries ago ; and the engines 
of social influence are increased a thousand- fold in numbers and effi- 
cacy. It is not eighteen hundred years ago since Scotland, whose 
metropolis has l>een called the Athens of modern Europe, — the country 
of Hume, of Smith, of Robertson, of Blair, of Stewart, of Brown, of 
Jeffrey, of Chalmers, of Scott, of Brougham, — was a wilderness, infested 
ly painted savages. It is not a thousand years since the North of 
Germany, now filled with beautiful cities, learned universities, and the 
best educated population in the world, was a dreary, pathless forest. 

Is it possible that, before an assembly like this, — an assembly of 
Americans, — it can be necessary to argue the possibility of civilizing 
Africa, through the instrumentality of a colonial establishment, and 
that in a comparatively short time ? It is but about ten years since 
the foundations of the colony of Liberia were laid ; and every one 
acquainted with the early history of New England knows that the col- 
ony at Literia has made much greater progress than was made by the 
settlement at Plymouth in the same period. More than once were the 
first settlements in Virginia in a position vastly less encouraging than 
that of the American colony on the coast of Africa ; and yet, from 
these feeble beginnings in New England and Virginia, what has not been 
brought about in two hundred years ? Two hundred years ago, and 
the Continent of North America, for the barbarism of its native pop- 
ulation, and its remoteness from the sources of improvement, was all 
that Africa is now. Impossible to civilize Africa ! Sir, the work h 
already, in no small part, accomplished. 



. 18. WHAT GOOD WILL THE MONUMENT DO? nZZ. — Edward Everett 

I AM met with the great objection. What good will the Momimeni 
do? I beg leave, Sii", to exercise my birthright as a Yankee, and 
answei' this question by asking two or three more, to which 1 believe 
it will be quite as difficult to furnish a satisfactory reply. I am asked, 
What good will the monument do ? And I ask, what good does any- 
thing do ? What is good ? Does anything do any good ? The per- 
sons who suggest this objection, of course, think that there are some 
orojects and undertakings that do good ; and I should therefore like 
TO have the idea of good explained, and analyzed, and run ou^ to itf 



i^UTICAL AND OCCASIONAL. — WEBSTER. 388 

e«emente. 'Hien this is done, if I do not demonstrate, in abov \ two 
Biinutes, that the monument does the same kind of good that an} thing 
else does, I shall consent that the huge blocks of granite, already laid, 
should be reduced to gravel, and carted ofl' to fill up the mill-pond; 
for that, I suppose, is one of the good things. Does a railroad or canal 
do good ? Answer, yes. And how ? It facilitates intercourse, opens 
markets, and increases the wealth of the country. But what is this 
good for ? ^\^hy, individuals prosper and get rich. And what good 
does that do ? Is mere wealth, as an ultimate end, — gold and silver, 
without an inquiry as to their use, — are these a good ? Certainly not. 
I should insult this audience by attempting to prove that a rich man, 
dS sucli, is neither better nor liappier than a poor one. Bui, as men grow 
rich, they live better. Is there any good in this, stopping here ? Is 
mere animal life — feeding, working, and sleeping like an ox — entitled 
to be called good ? Certainly not. But these improvements increase 
the population. And what good does that do ? Where is the good in 
counting twelve millions, instead of six, of mere feeding, working, 
sleeping animals ? There is, then, no good in the mere animal life, 
except that it is the physical basis of that higher moral existence, 
which resides in the soul, the heart, the mind, the conscience ; in good 
principles, good feelings, and the good actions (and the more disinter- 
ested, the more entitled to be called good) which flow from them. 
Now, Sir, I say that generous and patriotic sentiments, sentiments 
which prepare us to serve our country, to live for our country, to die 
for our country, — feelings like those which carried Prescott and War- 
ren and Putnam to the battle-field, are good, — good, humanly speak- 
ing, of the highest order. It is good to have them, good to encourage 
them, good to honor them, good to commemorate them ; and whatevei 
tends to animate and strengthen such feelings does as much right dowa 
practical good as filling up low grounds and building railroads. This 
is my demonstration. 



19. TO THE EEVOLUTIONARY VETERANS.— Can ie/ Webster, at the laying' of the ecr« 
ner-stone of t lie Bunker Hill Monuinent, June 17, 1825. 

We hold still among us some of those who were active agents in 
the scenes of 1775, and wb.o are now here, from every quarter of New 
England, to visit once more, and under circumstances so affecting, — 
[ had abnost said so overwhelming, — this renowned theatre of their 
courage and patriotism. 

Venerable men ! you have come down to us from a former genera- 
tion. Heaven has bounteously lengthened out your lives, that you 
might behold this joyous day. You are now, where you stood, fitly 
years ago, this very hour, with your brothers, and your neighbors, 
ishoulder to shoulder, in the strife for your country. Behold, how 
altered. The same heavens are indeed over your heads ; the same 
DtKian rolls at your feet ; but all else how changed ! You hear now 
tto -oai of hostile camiou you see now no mixed volumes of sraoL* 



S90 THE STANDARD SPEAKPJl. 

and tame rising from burning Charlestown. The ground strewed with 
the dead and the dying ; the impetuous chaj-ge ; the steady and sue* 
eessful repulse ; the loud call to repeated assault ; the summonmg of 
all that is manly to repeated resistance ; a thousand bosoms freely and 
fearlessly bared in an instant to whatever of terror there may bo Ib 
war and death; — all these you have witnessed, but you witness them no 
more. All is peace. The heights of yonder metropolis, its towers and 
roofs, which you then saw filled with wives and children and country- 
men in distress and terror, and looking with unutterable emotions for 
the issue of the combat, have presented you to-day with the sight of 
its whole happy population come out to welcome and greet you with 
an universal jubilee. All is peace ; and Grod has granted you this sight 
of your country's happiness, ere you slumber in the grave forever. 

Bat, alas ! you are not all here. Time and the sword have thinned 
your ranks. Prescott, Putnam, Stark, Brooks, Bead, Pomeroy, Briilge ! 
— our eyes seek for you in vain amidst this broken band. But 
let us not too much grieve, that you have met the common fate of 
men. You lived to see your country's independence established, and 
to sheathe your swords from war. On tlie light of Liberty, you saw 
arise the light of Peace, like 

" Another morn 
Risen on mid-noon;" — 

and the sky on which you closed your eyes was cloudless. 

But — ah ! — him ! the first great martyr in this great cause I 
Him ! the premature victim of Ihs own self-devoting heart ! Him ! 
the head of our civil councils, and the destined leader of our military 
bands, whom nothing brought hither but the unquenchable fire of his 
own spirit ! Him I cut off by Providence in the hour of overwhelm- 
ing anxiety and thick gloom ; falling, ere he saw the star of his coun- 
try rise ; pouring out his generous blood, like water, before he knew 
whether it would fertilize a land of freedom or of bondage! — how shall 
I struggle with the emotions that stifle the utterance of thy name ! 
Our poor work may perish, but thine shall endure ! This monument 
may moulder away ; the solid ground it rests upon may sink down to 
a level with the sea; )iit thy memory shall not fail! Wheresoever 
among men a heart shall be found that beats to the transports of 
patriotism and liberty, its aspirations shall bo to claim kindred with 
thy spirit ! 

Veterans ! you are the remnant of many a well-fought field. Yon 
bring with you marks of honor from Trenton and Monmouth, from 
Yorldown, Camden, Bennington, and Saratoga. Veteiaas of half a 
century ! when, in your youthful days, you put everything at hazard 
m your country's cause, good as that cause was, and sanguine as youth 
IS, still your fondest hopes did not stretch onward to an hour like this ' 
Look aoroad into this lovely land, which your young valor defended, 
and mark the happiness with which it is filled ; yea, look abrcad intt 
the whole e-arth, and see what a name you have contributed tt give U, 



POLITICAL AND OCCASIONAL. — WEBSTER. 391 

four country, and what a praise you have adJeJ to freedom, and th«5n 
lejoice ia the sympathy and gratitude which beam upoa your last 
iays from the improved condition of mankind. 



20. SANCTITY OF STATE OBLIGATIONS, liW.— JVebster. 

. We have the good fortune, under the blessing of a benign Provi* 
dsncc, to live in a country which we are proud of for many things, — 
for its independence, for its public liberty, for its free in&litutions, for 
its public spirit, for its enlightened patriotism ; but we are proud also. 
— and it is among those things we should be the most proud of, — wo 
are proud of its public justice, of its sound faith, of its substantially 
correct morals in the administration of the Government, and the gen 
3ral conduct of the country, since she took her place among the nation) 
of the world. But among the events which most threaten our char- 
acter and standing, and which so grossly attach on these moral princi- 
ples that have hitherto distinguished us, are certain sentiments which 
have been broached among as, and, I am sorry to say, have more sup- 
porters than they ought, because they strike at the very tbmidation of 
the social system. I do not speak especially of those which have been 
promulgated by some person in my own State, but of others, which go 
yet deeper into our political condition. I refer to the doctrine that 
one generation of men, acting under the Constitution, cannot bind 
another generation, who are to be their successors ; on which ground 
it is held, among other things, that State bonds are not obligatory. 

What ! one generation cannot bind another ? Where is the liijk of 
separation ? It changes hourly. The American community to-day i? 
not the same with the American community to-morrow. The commu- 
nity in which I began this day to address you is not the same as it jg 
at this moment. How abhorrent is such a doctrine to those great 
truths which teach us that, though individuals flourish and decay. 
States are immortal ; that political communities are ever young, ever 
green, ever flourishing, ever identical ! The individuals who compose 
them may change, as the atoms of our bodies change ; but the politica] 
community still exists in its aggregate capacity, as do our bodies in 
their natural ; with this only difi'erence, — that we know that our 
natural frames must soon dissolve, and return to their original dust ; 
but, for our country, she yet lives, — she ever dwells in our nearts, 
and it will, even at that solemn moment, go up as our last aspiratioc 
to Heaven, that she may be immortal ! 



n. TRE FOURTH OF JVhY.— Daniel Webster, at jrashinrton, D C, July i,l'iSl, on 
laying the corner-stone of the new wing- of the Capitol. 

This is that day of the year which announced to mankind the greai 
&ct of American Independence ! This fresh and brilliant morning 
hlosscs our vision with another beholding of the birth-day c f our nation • 



892 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

and we see that nation, of recent origin, now am^ng the most cousid 
erablo and powerful, and spreading over the continent from sea to sea 

" Westward the course of empire takes its way; 
The four first acts already past, 
A fifth shall close the drama with the day, — 
Time's noblest offspring is the last.'" 

On the day of the Declaration of Independence, our illustrious fathers 
performed the first scene in the last great act of this drama ; one, ic 
real importance, infinitely exceeding that for which the great English 
poet invoked 

" A muse of fire, 
A kingdom for a stage, princes to act, 
And monarchs to behold the swelling scene." 

The Muse inspiring our fathers was the Genius of Liberty, all on fire 
with a sense of oppression, and a resolution to throw it off ; the whole 
world was the stage, and higher characters than princes trod it ; and, 
instead of monarchs, countries, and nations, and the age, beheld the 
swelling scene. How well the characters were cast, and how well each 
acted his part, and what emotions the whole performance excited, let 
history, now and hereafter, tell. 

On the Fourth of July, 1776, the representatives of the United 
States of America, in Congress assembled, declared that these United 
Colonies are, and of right ought to be, free and independent States. 
This declaration, made by most patriotic and resolute men, trusting in 
the justice of their cause, and the protection of Heaven, — and yet 
made not without deep solicitude and anxiety, — has now stood for 
seventy-five years, and still stands. It was sealed in blood. It has 
met dangers, and overcome them ; it has had enemies, and conquered 
them ; it has had detractors, and abashed them all ; it has had doubt- 
ing friends, but it has cleared all doubts away ; and now, to-day, rais- 
ing its august form higher than the clouds, twenty millions of people 
contemplate it with hallowed love, and the world beholds it, and the 
consequences which have followed from it, with profound admiration. 

This anniversary animates, and gladdens, and unites, all American 
hearts. On other days of the year we may be party men, indulging 
in controversies more or less iniportant to the public good ; we may 
have likes and dislikes, and we may maintain our political differences, 
often with warm, and sometimes with angry feelings. But to-day we 
are Americans all ; and all nothing but Americans. As the great 
luminary over our heads, dissipating mists and fogs, now cheers the 
whole hemisphere, so do the associations connected with this day dis- 
perse all cloudy and sullen weather in the minds and feelings of true 
Americans. Everyman's heart swells, within him, every man's port 
and bearing becomes somewhat more proud and lofty, as he remembers 
that seventy-five years have rolled away, and that the great inheritance 
of liberty is still his ; his, undiminished and unimpaired : his, in al^ 
its original glory ; his to enjoy, his to protect, and his to trao=iiit te 
future generatioxis. 



FOI XTICAlj AXD OCCASIONAL. WKUSTER. 39b 



ja APOSTROPHE 1 WASHINQTON. — On the Uut-xsmed aeeatimt 

FelIjOMt-citizexs : What contemplations are awakened in our minds 
as wo assemble here to reenact a scene like that performed bj 
Washington ! Methinks I see his venerable form now before me, as 
presented in the glorious statue bj Houdon, now in the Capitol of 
Virginia. He is dignified and grave ; but concern and anxiety seem 
to soften the lineaments of his countenance. The government over 
which he presides is jet in the crisis of experiment. Not free from 
troubles at home, he sees the world in commotion and arms all around 
him. He sees that imposing foreign powers are half disposed to 
try the strength of the recently established American government. 
Miglity thoughts, mingled with fears as well as with hopes, are strug- 
gling within him. He heads a short procession over these then naked 
fields ; he crosses yonder stream on a fallen tree ; he ascends to the 
top of this eminence, whose original oaks of the forest stand as thick 
ai-ound him as if the spot had been devoted to Druidical worship, and 
here he performs the appointed duty of the day. 

And now, fellow-citizens, if this vision were a reality, — if Wash- 
ington actually were now amongst us, — and if he could draw around 
Lim the shades of the great public men of his own days, patriots and 
■warriors, orators and statesmen, and were to address us in their 
presence, would he not say to us : " Ye men of this generation, I 
rejoice and thank God for being able to see that our labors, and toils, 
and sacrifices, were not in vain. You are prosperous, you are 
happy, you are grateful. The fire of liberty burns brightly and 
steadily in your hearts, while duty and the law restrain it from burst- 
ing forth in wild and destructive conflagration. Cherish liberty, as 
you love it ; cherish its securities, as you wish to preserve it. Main- 
tain the Constitution which we labored so painfully to establish, and 
which has been to you such a source of inestimable blessings. Pre- 
serve the Union of the States, cemented as it was by our prayers, our 
tears and our blood. Be true to God, to your country, and to your 
duty. So shall the whole Eastern world follow the morning sun, to 
contemplate you as a nation ; so shall all generations honor you, as 
they honor us ; and so shall that Almighty Power which so graciously 
protected us, and which now protects you, shower its everlasting bless- 
ings upon you and your posterity ! " 

Groat father of your country ! we heed vour words ; we feel their 
force, as if you now uttered them with lips of flesh and blood. Your 
example teaches us, your affectionate addresses teach us your pub- 
lic life teaches us, your sense of the value of the blessings of t!ie 
Union. Those blessings our fathers have tasted, and we have tasted, 
and still taste. Nor do we inteml that those who come after us sha^ 
be denied- the same high fruition. Our honor, as well as our happi 
tiess, is concerned. We cannot, we dare not, we will not, betray our 
sacred trust. We will not filch from posterity tlie treasure placed in 
our hands to be traa^mitted to other generations. The bow that gilds 



394 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

Ihe cKiuds in the Heavens, the pillars that upi^ld the firmament, 
may disappear and fall away in the hour appointed by ttie will of 
God ; but, until that day comes, or so long as our lives may last, nc 
ruthless hand shall undermine that bright arch of Union and Liberty 
which spans the continent from Washington to California ! 



23. THE POVTER OP PUBLIC OPINION, lS52. — fribster 

We are too much inclined to underrate the power of moral inflji' 
ence, and the influence of public opinion, and the influence of princi- 
ples to which great men, the lights of the world and of the age, nave 
given their sanction. Who doubts that, in our own struggle for 
liberty and independence, the majestic eloquence of Chatham, the 
profound reasoning of Burke, the burning satire and irony of Col. 
Barre, had influences upon our fortunes here in America ? They had 
influences both ways. They tended, in the first place, somewhat to 
diminish the confidence of the British Ministry in their hopes of 
success, in attempting to subjugate an injured People. They had 
influence another way, because, all along the coasts of the country, — 
and all our people in thst day lived upon the coast, — there was 
not a reading man who did not feel stronger, bolder, and more deter- 
mined in the assertion of his rights, when these exhilarating accounts 
from the two Houses of Parliament reached him from beyond the 
seas. He felt that those who held and controlled public opinion else- 
where were with us ; that their words of eloquence might produce an 
affect in the region where they were uttered ; and, above all, they 
assured them that, in the judgment of the just, and the wise, and the 
impartial, their cause was just, and they were right ; and therefore 
they said. We will fight it out to the last. 

Now, Gentlemen, another great mistake is sometimes made. We 
think that nothing is powerful enough to stand before autocratic, 
monarchical, or despotic power. There is something strong enough, 
quite strong enough, — and, if properly exerted, will prove itself so, — 
and that is the power of intelligent public opinion in all the Nations of 
the earth. There is not a monarch on earth whose throne is not 
liable to be shaken by the progress of opinion, and the sentiment of 
the just and intelligent part of the People. It becomes us, in the 
station which we hold, to let that public opinion, so far as we form it, 
have a free course. Let it go out ; let it be pronounced in thunder 
tones; let it open the ears of the deaf; let it open the eyes of the 
blind; and let it everywhere be proclaimed what we of this great 
.Republic think of the general principle of human liberty, and of that 
Oppression which all abhor. Depend upon it. Gentlemen, that betweeo 
these two rival powers — the autocratic power, maintained by arms and 
tbrce, afxd the popular power, maintained by opinion. — the former is 
eonstiintly decreasing, and, thank God, the latter is constantly increas- 
ing! Real humaji liberty and human rights are gaining the ascend- 
mt , and the part which we have to act. in a 1 this great drama, is t« 



tvLlTICAL AND OCCASIONAL.- KING. Bi*?! 

»how ourselves in favor of those rights, to uphold cur asccnaency, and 
w curry it on until we shall see it culminate in the highest Heaven 
over our heads. 

at THE FUTURE OF THE UNITED STATES. —President King 

1 HAVE faith in the future, because I have confidence in the present. 
With our gi'owth in wealth and in power, I see no abatement in those 
qualities, moral and physical, to which so much of our success is owing ; 
and, while thus true to ourselves, true to the instincts of freedom, and 
to those other instincts which, with our race, seem to go hand in hand 
with Freedom, — love of order and respect for law {as law, and not 
because it is upheld by force), — we must continue to prosper. 

The sun shines not upon, has never shone upon, a land where 
human happiness is so widely disseminated, where human government 
is so little abused, so free from oppression, so invisible, intangible, and 
yet so strong. Nowhere else do the institutions which constitute a 
State rest upon so broad a base as here ; and nowhere are men so 
powerless, and institutions so strong. In the wilderness of free minds, 
dissensions will occur ; and, in the unlimited discussion in writing and 
in speech, in town-meetings, newspapers, and legislative bodies, angry 
and menacing language will be used ; irritations will arise and be 
aggravated ; and those immediately concerned in the strife, or breath- 
ing its atmosphere, may fear, or feign to fear, that danger is in su^'h 
hot breath and passionate resolves. But outside, and above, and beyond 
all this, is the People, — steady, industrious, self-possessed, — caring 
little for abstractions, and less for abstractionists, but, with one deep, 
common sentiment, and with the consciousness, calm, but quite sure 
and earnest, that, in the Constitution and the Union, as they received 
them from their fathers, and as they themselves have observed and 
maintained them, is the sheet-anchor of their hope, the pledge of their 
prosperity, the palladium of their liberty ; and with this, is that other 
consciousness, not less calm and not less earnest, that, in their own 
keeping exclusively, and not in that of any party leaders or party 
demagogues, or political hacks, or speculators, is the integrity of that 
Union and that Constitution. It is in the strong arms and honest 
hearts of the great masses, who are not members of Congress, nor 
holders of office, nor spouters at town-meetings, that resides the safety 
of the State ; and these masses, though slow to move, are irresistibly 
when the time and the occasion for moving come. 

I have faith, therefore, in the Future ; and when, at the close of 
iihis half-century, which so comparatively few of us are to see, the 
account shall again be taken, and the question be asked. What has 
Ne\^ York done since 1850 ? I have faith that the answer will be 
given in a City still advancing in population, wealth, morals, and 
knowledge, — in a City free, and deserving, by hei' virtues, her benev- 
olent institutions, her schools, her courts and her temples, to continue 
free, and still part and parcel of this great and glorious Union — 
wnich mav God preserve till Time shall be no more : 



396 TBE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

25 IMPORTANCE OF THE AGRICULTURAL INTEREST.-- Ca/P I Cuskma 

These United States are, as a whole, and always have been, chiefij 
iependent, for their wealth and power, on the natural productions of 
the earth. It is the spontaneous products of our forests, our mineft. 
and our seas, and the cultivated products of our soil, which have ruad?., 
aud continue to make, us what we are. Manufacture can but modify 
these, commerce only distribute or accumulate them, and exchange 
them for others, to gratify taste, or promote convenience. Land ia 
the footstool of our power ; land is the throne of our empire. 

Generation after generation m-ay give themselves up to slaughter, 
in civil or foreign war ; dynasty follow dynasty, each with new vari- 
eties of oppression or misrule ; the fratricidal rage of domestic tactions 
rend the entrails of their common country ; temples, and basilica, and 
Capitols, crumble to dust ; proud navies melt into the yeast of the 
sea ; and all that Art fitfully does to perpetuate itself disappear like 
the phantasm of a troubled dream ; — but Nature is everlasting ; and, 
above the wreck and uproar of our vain devices and childish tumults, 
the tutelary stars continue to sparkle on us from their distant spheres ; 
the sun to pour out his vivifying rays of light and heat over the earth , 
the elements to dissolve, in grateful rain ; the majestic river to roll on 
his fertilizing waters unceasingly ; and the ungrudging soil to yield 
up the plenteousness of its harvest, year after year, to the hand of the 
husbandman. He, the husbandman, is the servant of those divine 
elements of earth and air ; he is the minister of that gracious, that 
benign, that bounteous, that fostering, that nourishing, that renovat- 
ing, that inexhaustible, that adoi-able Nature ; and, as such, the steif ■ 
ardship of our nationality is in him. 



26. EUROPEAN STRUGGLES FOR FREEDOM, 18i8.—Reverdy Johnson. 

Amidst the agitating throes of the Old World, — amidst the &11 
of Thrones, the prostration of Dynasties, the flight of Kings, — 
what American, native or naturalized, lives, who does not admire and 
love his Government, and is not prepared to die in its defence ? Our 
power, and our unexampled private and public prosperity, are to bo 
referred altogether to our Constitutional liberty. Can it be wondered 
at, that, with such an example before them, the Nations of Europe 
should be striking for freedom ? Sooner or later, the blow was inev- 
itable. Absolute individual liberty, secured by the power of all ; pri- 
vate rights of person and property held sacred, and maintained by the 
will and power of all ; pei-fect equality of all ; absence of degrading 
inferiority ; each standing on a common platform ; no selected Lords 
nor Sovereigns, by election or by birth, but every honest man a Lord 
and a Sovereign, — constitutes a proud and glorious contrast, challeng- 
vng, and, sooner or later, ceiiain to obtain, the applause, admiration, 
w)d adoption of the world. 

Appai jntly sudden and unexpected as have been these great popu- 
iar struggles, with which we are sympathizing, they were as certain 



POLITICAL AND OCCASIONAL. CHOATE. 39^ 

to oocar as the revolution of the seasons. To be free, man needs onlj 
to know tlie value of freedom. To :-ast off the shackles of tyranny, 
!m; needs only to know his power. The result is inevitable. ]iut tho 
People of the Old World must also learn that liberty, unrestrained, i^ 
dangerous licentiousness. Of all conditions in which man may be 
placed, anarchy is the most direful. All history teaches that the 
tyranny of the many is mor3 fatid than the tyranny of the few. The 
liberty suited to man's na'-ure is liberty restrained by law. This, 
too, they may learn from our example. In sending, then, our sincere 
congratulations to the People of the Continent, we ohould advise them 
against every popular excess. In a fraternal spirit, we should invoke 
them to a reign of order, of their own creation, — a reign of just law, 
of their own enactment, — a reign of Constitutional freedom, of their 
own granting. Then will their liberty be as our own, fail and perfect, 
securing all the blessings of human life, and giving to every People 
everything of power and true glory which should belong to a civilized 
and Christian Nation. 



27. THE BIRTH-DAY OF WASHINGTON. —iJu/us Ckoate. 

The birth-day of the " Father of his Country " ! May it ever be 
freshly remembered by American hearts ! May it ever reawaken in 
them a filial veneration for his memory ; ever rekindle the fires of 
patriotic regard to the country which he loved so well ; to which he 
gave his youthful vigor and his youthful energy, during the perilous 
period of the early Indian warfare ; to which he devoted his life, m 
the maturity of his powers, in the field ; to which again he offered the 
counsels of his wisdom and his experience, as President of the Con- 
vention that framed our Constitution ; which he guided and directed 
while in the Chair of State, and for which the last prayer of his 
earthly supplication was offered up, when it came the moment for him ' 
so well, and so grandly, and so calmly, to die. He v/as the first man 
of the time in which he grew. His memory is first and most sacred 
in our love ; and ever hereafter, till the last drop of blood shall freeze 
in the last. American heart, his name shall be a spell of power and 
might. 

Yes, Gentlemen, there is one personal, one vast felicity, which no man 
can share with him. It was the daily beauty and towering and 
matchless glory of his life, which enabled him to create his countrVj 
and, at the same time, secure an undying love and regard from tho 
whole American people. " The fii-st in the hearts of his counti'y- 
men ! " Yes, first ! He has our first and most fervent love. Un- 
doubtedly there were brave and wise and good men, before his day, in 
every colony. But the American Nation, as a Nation, I do not reckon 
to have begun before 1774. And the first love of that young America 
was Washington. The first word she lisped was his name. Her 
earliest breath spoke it It still is her proud ejaculation ; ?nd it wU! 
be the last gasp of her Bxpinng life; 



S98 THE STANDARD gPEAETSR. 

Yes! Others of our great men have been appreciated, — manj 
admired by all. But him we love. Him we all love. Alxjut and 
around him we call up no dissentient and discordant and dissatisfied 
dementis, — no sectional prejudice nor bias, — no party, no creed, 
no dogma of politics. None of these shall assail him. Yes. When 
the storm of battle blows darkest and rages highest, the memory of 
Washington shall nerve every American arm, and cheer eve}*y Amer- 
ican heart. It shall relume that Promethean fire, that sublime 
flame of patriotism, that devoted love of country, which his words 
have commended, which his example has consecrated, 

" Where may the wearied eye repose. 

When gazing on the great, 
Where neither guilty glory glows. 

Nor despicable state 1 — 
Yes — one — the first, the last, the best. 
The Cincinnatus of the West, 

AVhom Envy dared not hate. 
Bequeathed the name of Washington, 
To make man blush, there was but one."* 



28. THE PROSPECTS OF CALIFORNIA, Nov. 2, 1S50. — Nathaniel Bennett. 

Judging from the past, what have we not a right to expect in the 
future. The world has never witnessed anything equal or similar to 
our career hitherto. Scarcely two years ago, California was almost 
an unoccupied wild. With the exception of a presidio, a mission, a 
pueblo, or a lonely ranch, scattered here and there, at tiresome dis- 
tances, there was nothing to show that the uniform stillness had ever 
been broken by the footsteps of civilized man. The agricultural rich- 
ness of her valleys remained unimproved ; and the wealth of a world 
lay entombed in the bosom of her solitary mountains, and on the 
banks of her unexplored streams. Behold the contrast ! The hand 
of agriculture is now busy in every fertile valley, and its toils are 
remunerated with rewards which in no other portion of the world can 
be credited. Enterprise has pierced every hill, for hidden treasure, 
and has heaped up enormous gains. Cities and villages dot the sur- 
face of the whole State. Steam.ers dart along our rivers, and innu- 
merable vessels spread their white wings over our bays. Not Con- 
stantinople, upon which the wealth of imperial Eome was lavished, 
— not St. Petersburg, to found which the arbitrary Czar sacrificed 
thousands of his subjects, — would rival, in rapidity of growth, the fair 
city which lies before me. Our State is a marvel to ourselves, and a 
miracle to the rest of the world. Nor is the influence of California 
eonfined within her own borders. Mexico, and the islands nestled in 
che embrace of the Pacific, have felt the quickening breath of her 
:interprise. With her golden wand, she has touched the prostrate 
corpse of South American industry, and it has sprung up in the fresh- 
i<=«s oi' life. She has caused the hxma of busy life to be heard in the 

* Lord Byron. 



I 



f .jLITTCAL and OCCASIOXAI*. WEDS1ER. 399 

wildeiaess ^\hcrc■ rolls the Oregon,' and but recently beard no 
Fcnnd. "save his own dasbings." Even tbe -wall of Cbiiiese exclu- 
nivcncfts has teen broken down, and the Children of the Sun have 
come forth U) view the splemlor of her achievements. 

IJiit, fiattc-rinnf as has been the past, satisfactory as is the present, it 
is but a fo-etaste of the future. It is a trite saying, that we live in 
an age of great events. Nothing can be more true. But tlie greatest 
of all events of the present age is at hand. It needs not the gift of 
propli(!cy to predict, that t!ie course of the world's trade is destined 
soon to be changed. But a few years can elapse before the commerce 
of A-sia and the Islands of the Pacific, instead of pursuing the ocean 
track, by way of Cape Horn or the Cape of Good Hope, or even 
taking the shorter route of the Isthmus of Darien or the Isthmus of 
Tehuaritepec, will enter the Golden Gate of California, and deposit its 
riches in the lap of our own city. Hence, on bars of iron, and pro- 
pelled by steam, it will ascend the mountains and traverse the desert ; 
and, having again reached the confines of civilization, will be distrib- 
utetl, through a thousand channels, to every portion of the Union and 
of Europe. New York will then become what London now is, the 
great central point of exchange, the heart of trade, the force of 
whose contraction and expansion will be felt throughout every artery 
of the commercial world ; and San Francisco will then stand the 
second city of America. Is this visionary ? Twenty years will 
determine. 

The world is interested in our success ; for a fresh field is opened to 
its commerce, and a new avenue to the civilization and progress of the 
human race. Let us, then, endeavor to realize the hopes of i\.meri- 
cans, and the expectations of the world. Let us not only be united 
uraongst ourselves, for our own local welfare, but let us strive to 
jement the common bonds of brotherhood of the whole Union. In 
Dur relations to the Federal Government, let us know no South, no 
North, no East,. no West. Wherever American liberty flourishes, let 
that be our common country ' Wherever the American banner waves, 
let that be our home ' 



29. THE STANDARD OF TILE CONSTITUTION, i^e&. 1852. — fTefeZer 

If classical history has been found to be, is now, and shall continue 
to be, the concomitarj*-. of free institutions, and of popular eloquence, 
what a field is opening to us for another Herodotus, another Thucyd" 
Ides (only may his theme not be a Peloponnesian war), and another 
liivy ! And, let me say. Gentlemen, that if we, and our posterity 
shall be true to the Christian religion, — if we and they shall live 
always w the fear of God, and shall respect His commandments, — if 
we and they shall maintain just moral sentiments and such conscien* 
cious convictions of duty as shall control the heart and life, — W9 
may have the highest hopes of the future fortunes of our country. 
And, if we maintain those institutions of government, and that politi- 
Bal Union., — exceeding all praise as much as it eyceodf all fjrmtjj 



40C THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

examples of political associations, — we may be sure of one thing 
that while our country furnishes materials for a thousand masters oi 
the historic art, it will afford no topic for a Gibbon. It will have m 
Decline and Fall. It will go on, prospering and to prosper. ]^ut, if 
we and our posterity reject religious instruction and authority, violate 
the rules of eternal justice, trifle with the injunctions of morality, and 
recklessly destroy the political Constitution which holds us together, 
no man can tell how suddenly a catastrophe may overwhelm us that 
shall bury all our glory in profound obscurity. If that catastrophe 
shall happen, let it have no hisfaory ! Let the horrible narrative never 
be written ; let its fate be like that of the lost books of liivy, which 
no human eye shall ever read, or the missing Pleiad, of which no man 
ean ever know more than that it is lost, and lost forever. 

But, G-entlemen, I will not take mj leave of you in a tone of de- 
spondency. We may trust that Heaven will not forsake us, so lonof as 
we do not forsake ourselves. Are we of this generation so derelict — 
have we so little of the blood of our Revolutionary fathers coursing 
through our veins — that we cannot preserve what our ancestors 
achieved ? The world will cry out " Shame " upon us, if we show 
ourselves unworthy to be the descendants of those great and illus- 
trious men who fought for their liberty, and secured it to their pos- 
terity by the Constitution. 

The Constitution has enemies, secret and professed ; but they cannot 
iisguise the fact that it secures us many benefits. These enemies are 
milike in character, but they all have some fault to find. Some of 
them are enthusiasts, hot-headed, self-sufficient and headstrong. They 
fancy that they can make out for themselves a better path than that 
laid down for them. Phaeton, the son of Apollo, thought he could 
find a better course across the Heavens for the sun. 

" TliU3 Phaeton once, amidst the ethereal plains, 
Leaped on his father's car, and seized the reins; 
Far from his course impelled the glowing sua, 
'Till Nature's laws to wild disorder run." 

Other enemies there are, more cool, and with more calculation 
These have a deeper and more traitorous purpose. . They have spoken 
of forcible resistance to the provisions of the Constitution ; they now 
speak of Secession ! Let me say. Gentlemen, secession from us i; 
accession elsewhere. He who renounces the protection of the Stars 
and Stripes shelters himself under the shadow of anather flag, you 
may rest assured of that. Now, to counteract the efforts of these 
malecontents, the friends of the Constitution must rally. ALL its 
friends, of whatever section, whatever their sectional opinions may be, 
must unite for its preservation. To that standard we must adhere, 
and uphold it through evil report and good report. We will sustain 
it, and meet death itself, if it come ; we will ever encounter and defeat 
error, by day and by night, in light or in darkness — thick darl 
if it come, till 

" Danger's troubled night is o'er, 
And the star oi Peace return." 



i 



PART SIXTH 



NARRATIVE AND LYRICAl 



1. THE CRUCIFIXION. —fieu George Crol¥ 

City of God ! Jerusalem, 
Why rashes out thy living stream ? 
The turbaned priest, the hoary seer, 
The Roman in his pride, are there ! 
And thousands, tens of thousands, still 
Cluster round Calvary's wild hill. 

Still onward rolls the living tide ; 

There rush the bridegroom and the bride,— 

Prince, beggar, soldier, Pharisee, — 

The old, the young, the bond, the free , 

The nation's furious nuiltitude, 

All maddening with the cry of blood. 

Tis glorious morn ; from height to heighft 
Shoot the keen arrows of the light ; 
And glorious, in their central shower. 
Palace of holiness and power, 
The temple on Moriah's brow 
Looks a new-risen sun below. 

But woe to hill, and woe to vale ! 
Against them shall come forth a wail ; 
And woe to bridegroom and to bride ! 
For death shall on the whirlwind ride ; 
And woe to thee, resplendent shrine, — • 
The sword is out for thee and tliine ! 

Hide, hide thee in the Heavens, thou sun, 
Before the deed of blood is done ! 
Upon that temple's haughty steep 
Jerusalem's last angels weep ; 
They see destruction's funeral pall 
Blackening o'er Sion's sacred wall. 

Still pours along the multitude, — 
Still rends the Heavens the shout of bloosS 
But. in the nmrderer'p furious van, 
Who totterh or. ' A weary umu 

26 



KJS THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

A CI jss upon his shoulder bound, — 
ilis brow, his frame, one gushing wound. 

And now he treads on Calvary — 
What slave upon that hill must die ? 
What hand, what heart, in guilt imbrued, 
Must be the mountain vulture's food ? 
There stand two victims gaunt and bare, 
Two culprits, emblems of despair. 

Yet who the third ? The yell of shame 

Is frenzied at the sufferer's name. 

Hands clenched, teeth gnashing, vestures torn. 

The cui'se. the taunt, the laugh of Bcoru, 

All that the dying hour can sting. 

Are rouna thee now, thou tboru-cro-waod king I 

Yet, cursed and tortured, taunted, spurned, 
Nq wrath is for the wrath returned ; 
No vengeance flashes from the eye ; 
The Sufferer calmly waits to die ; 
The sceptre-reed, the thorny crown, 
Wake on that pallid brow no frown. 

At last the word of death is given, 
The form ls bound, the nails are driven : 
Now triumph, Scribe and Pharisee ! 
Now, Roman, bend the mocking knee ! 
The cross is reared. The deed is done. 
There stands Messiah's earthly throne i 

This was the earth's consummate hour ; 
For this hath blazed the prophet's power ; 
For this hath swept the conqueror's sword j 
Hath ravaged, raised, cast down, restored 
Persepolis, Rome, Babylon, 
For this ye sank, for this ye shone I 

Yet things to which earth's brightest beam 
Were darkness — earth itself a dream. 
Foreheads on which shall crowns be laid 
Sublime, when sun and star shall fade • 
Worldi) upon worlds, eternal things 
Hung on thy anguish. King of Kings ! 

Still from his lip no curse has come. 
His lofty eye has looked i.o doom ! 
No earthquake burst, no angel brand. 
Crushes the black, blaspheming band : 
What say those lips, by anguish riven ? 
" God, be my murderers forgiven ! " 



flARKATIVB AND LYRICAL.— JROLT. 103 

a. THE SEVENTH PLAGUE OF EGYPT. —Rev. George Ci»tt 

T WAS morn, — the rising splendor rolled 

On marble towers and roof's of gold : 

Hall, court and gallery, below, 

Were crowded with a living flow ; 

Egyptian, Arab, Nubian there, 

The bearers of the br>w and spear , 

The hoary priest, the Chaklee sage, 

The slave, the gemmed and glittering page — •• 

Helm, turban and tiara, shone, 

A dazzling ring, round Pharaoh's Throne. 

There came a man, — the human tide 
Shrank backward from his stately stride : 
His cheek with storm and time was tanned ,* 
A shepherd's staff was in his hand. 
A shudder of instinctive fear 
Told the dark King what step was near ; 
On through the host the stranger came, 
It parted round his form like flame. 

He stooped not at the footstool stone. 

He clasped not sandal, kissed not Throne ; 

Erect he stood amid the ring, 

His only words, — " Be just, king ! " 

On Pharaoh's cheek the blood flushed high, 

A fire was in his sullen eye ; 

Yet on the Chief of Israel 

No arrow of his thousands fell : 

All mute and moveless as the grave. 

Stood chilled the satrap and the slave. 

" Thou 'rt come," at length the Monarch spoK.« r. 

Haughty and high the words outbroke : 

" Is Israel weary of its lair, 

The forehead peeled, the shoulder bare ? 

Take back the answer to your band ; 

Go, reap the wind ; go, plough the sand 

Go, vilest of the living vile. 

To build the never-ending pile, 

Till, darkest of the nameless dead, 

The vulture on their flesh is fed ! 

What better asks the howling slave 

Than the base life our bounty gave ? " 

Shouted in pride the turbaned peers, 

Upclashed to Heaven the golden spears. 

" King ! thou and thine are doomed ! — BehcW ' 

The prophet spoke, — the thunder rolled ! 



404 THE STANDARD SFfiAKKB. 

Along the pathway of the suu 
Sailed vapory mountains, wild and dun. 
" Yet there is time," the prophet said, — 
He raised his staff', — the storm was stayed 
" King ! be the word of freedom given ; 
What art thou, man, to war with Heaven ? ' 

There came no word. — The thunder broke 
Like a huge city's final smoke, 
Thick, lurid, stifling, mixed with flame 
Through court and hall the vapors came. 
Loose as the stubble in the field, 
Wide flew the men of spear and shield ; 
Scattered like foam along the wave, 
Flew the proud pageant, prince and slave : 
Or, in the chains of terror bound, 
Lay, corpse-like, on the smouldering gi'ound. 
" Speak, King ! — the wrath is but begun, — 
Still dumb ? — Then, Heaven, thy will be doDi 

Echoed from earth a hollow roar, 

Like ocean on the midnight shore ; 

A sheet of lightning o'er them wheeled, 

The solid ground beneath them reeled ; 

In dust sank r-oof and battlement ; 

Like webs the giant walls were rent j 

Red, broad, before his startled gaze, 

The Monarch saw his Egypt blaze. 

Still swelled the plague, — the flame grew paSi 

Burst from the clouds the charge of hail ; 

With arrowy keenness, iron weight, 

Down poured the ministers of fate ; 

Till man and cattle, crushed, congealed. 

Covered with death the boundless field. 

Still swelled the plague, — uprose the blast, 
The avenger, fit to be the last ; 
On ocean, river, forest, vale. 
Thundered at once the mighty gale. 
Before the whirlwind flew the tree, 
Beneath the whirlwind roared the sea ; 
A thousand ships were on the wave, — 
Where are they ? — ask that foaming gravs ! 
Down go the hope, the pride of years ; 
Down go the myriad marinei-s ; 
The riches of Eixrth's richest zone, 
Gone ! like a flash of lightning, gone I 

And, lo I that first fierce triumph o'er, 
Swells Ocean on the shrinking shore " 



HAEKATIVE AND LYRICAL. DELaVIWNB. 40o 

Stil] onward, onward, dark and wide, 
Engulfs the land the furious tide. 
Then bowed thy spirit, stublwrn King, 
Thou serpent, reft of fang -and stmg ; 
Humbled before the prophet's knee, 
He groaned, " Be injured Israel free ! " 

To Heaven the sage upraised his wand : 
Back rolled the deluge from the land ; 
Back to its caverns sank the gale ; 
Fled from the noon the vapors pale ; 
Broad burned again the joyous sun ; — 
The hour of wrath and death was done. 



TBDREE UAlji IN THE LIFE OF COLUMBUS. — Ori^wa/ adapCaltnn of a 
tioH from l)elavi!;ne. 

On the deck stood Columbus ; the ocean's expanse, 

Untried and unlimited, swept by his glance. 

" Back to Spain ! " cry his men ; " Put the vessel about ! 

We venture no further through danger and doubt." — 

•' Three days, and I give you a world ! " he replied ; 

" Bear up, my brave comrades ; — three days shall decide." 

He sails, — but no token of land is in sight ; 

He sails, — but the day shows no more than the night ; ■ — 

On, onward he sails, TFhile in vain o'er the lee 

The lead is plunged dovvn through a fathomless sea. 

The pilot, in silence, leans mournfidly o'er 

The rudder which creaks mid the billowy roar ; 

He hears the hoarse moan of the spray-driving blast, 

And its funeral wail through the shrouds of the mast. 

The stars of far Europe have sunlc from the skies. 

And the great Southern Cross meets his terrified eyes ; 

But, at length, the slow dawn, softly streaking the night, 

Illumes the blue vault with its faint crimson light. 

" Columbus ! 't is day, and the darkness is o'er." — 

" Day ! and what dost thou see ? " — " Sky and ocean. No m'yt^ ' 

The second day 's pa^it, and Columbus is sleeping 

While Mutiny near him its vigil is keeping : 

" Shall he perish ? " — " Ay ! death ! " is tire barbarous cry 

"He must triumph to-morrow, or, perjured, must die* " 

Ungrateful and blind ! — shall the world-linking sea. 

He traced for the Future, his sepulchre be ? 

Shall that sea, on the morrow, with pitiless waves. 

Fling his corse ou that shore which his patient eye craves * 

The corse of an Iw^mble adventurer, then ; 

One day later, — ^^o.umbus, the first among men ' 



406 THE STANDARD SPEAEBS- 

But, hush I he is dreaming ! — A veil on the maiii. 

At the dislant horizon, is parted in twain, 

And now, on hl^ dreaming eye, — rapturous sight ! — 

Fresh bursts the New Wbrld from the darkness of nigfef 

0, vision of glory ! how dazzling it seems ! 

How glistens the verdure ! how sparkle the streams ! 

How blue the far mountains ! how glad the green isles . 

And the earth and the ocean, how dimpled with smiles 

" Joy ! joy ! " cries Columbus, " this region is mine ! " • 

Ah ! not e'en its name, wondrous dreamer, is thine ' 

But, lo ! his dream changes ; — a vision less bright 

Comes to darken and banish that scene of delight. 

The gold-seeking Spaniards, a merciless band. 

Assail the meek natives, and ravage the land. 

He sees the fair palace, the temple on fire. 

And the peaceful Cazique 'mid their ashes expire ; 

He sees, too, — 0, saddest ! 0, mournfullest sight ! — 

The crucifix gleam in the thick of the fight. 

More teri'ible far than the merciless steel 

Is the up-lifted cross in the red hand of Zeal ! 

Again the dream changes. Columbus looks forth, 
And a bright constellation beholds in the North. 
T is the herald of empire I A People appear, 
Impatient of wrong, and unconscious of fear ! 
rhey level the forest, — they ransack the seas, — 
Each zone finds their canvas unfui'led to the breeze. 
" Hold I " Tyranny cries ; but their resolute breath 
Sends back the reply, " Independence or death ! " 
The ploughshare they turn to a weapon of might, 
And, defying all odds, they go forth to the fight. 

They have conquered ! The People, with grateful acclaim. 

Look to Washington's guidance, from Washington's fame ; — 

Behold Cincinnatus and Cato combined 

In his patriot heart and republican mind. 

0, type of true manhood ! What sceptre or crown 

But fades in the light of thy simple renown ? 

And lo ! by the side of the Hero, a Sage, 

In Freedom's behalf, sets his mark on the age ; 

WTiom Science adoringly hails, while he wrings 

The lightning from Heaven, the sceptre from kings ! 

At length, o'er Columbus slow consciousness breaks, — 

" Land ! land ! " cry the sailors ; " land ! land ! " — he awakes, ■ 

He runs, — yes ! behold it ! — it blesseth his sight, — 

The land I O, dear spectacle ! transport ! delight ! 

0, generous sobs, which he cannot i-estrain ! 

What will Ferdinand say ? and the Future ? and Spain ? 



SARRATIVK A^D LYRICAL. MILWS. IG' 

He will lay this fair land at the foot of the Throne, — 
His King will repay all the ills he has known, — 
In exchange for a world what are honors and gains ? 
Or a crown ? But ho^v is he rewarded ? — with chains ! 



4. DESTKUCTION OV THE PHILISTINES. —i»/t7f on. 

II has been said of Ihe folloning passage, that "the pnet seems to exert no less force of |H 
■ describing, than Saiuson ilocis strength of Ijody in exuuutiug." 

Occasions drew me early to the city ; 

And, as the gates I entered with sunrise, 

The morning trumpets festival proclaimed 

Through each high street ; little I had despatched, 

When all abroad was rumored that this day 

Samson should he brought forth, to show the People 

Proof of his mighty strength in feats and games ' 

I sorrowed at his captive state, but minded 

Not to be anseiit at mat spectacle. 

The building was a spacious theatre 

Half round, on two main pillars vaulted high, 

With seats where all the lords, and each degree 

Of sort, might sit, in order to behold ; 

The other side was open, where the throng 

On banks and scaffolds under sky might stand ; 

I among these aloof obscurely stood. 

The feast and noon grew high, and sacrifice 

Had filled their hearts with mirth, high cheer, and mna, 

When to their sports they turned. Immediately 

Was Samson as a public sei'vant brought. 

In their state livery clad ; before him pipes. 

And timbrels, — on each side went armed guards, 

Both horse and foot, — before him and behind. 

Archers, and slingers, cataphracts * and spears. 

At sight of him, the People with a shout 

Rifted the air, clamoring their god with praise. 

Who had made their dreadfid enemy their thrall. 

He, patient, but undaunted, where they led him, 

Came to the place; and what was set before him, 

Which without help of eye might be essayed, 

To heave, pull, draw or break, he still performed 

All with incredible, stupendous force ; 

None daring to appear antagonist. 

At length, for intermission sake, they led him 

Between the pillars ; he his guide requested 

(For so from such as nearer stood we heard). 

As over-tired, to let him lean a while 

With both his arms on those two massy piUaF 

* That is. men and horses in annor 



40S "TJE aPAHDARD SPEAKER. 

That to the ar3hed roof gave main support. 

He, unsuspicious, led him ; which when Samson 

Felt in his arms, with head a while inclined. 

And eyes fast fixed he stood, as one who prayed. 

Or some gi-eat matter in his mind revolved : 

At last, with head erect, thus cried aloud : — 

" Hitherto, Lords, what your commands imposed 

I have performed, as reason was, obeying, 

Not without wonder or del'ight beheld ; 

Now of my own accord such other trial 

I mean to show you of my strength, yet greater, 

As with amaze shall strike all who behold." 

This uttered, straining all his nerves, he bowed : 

As with the force of winda and waters pent, 

When mountains tremble, those two massy pillars 

With horrible convulsion to and fro 

He tugged, he shoo'k, till down they came, and drew 

The whole roof after them, with burst of thunder 

Upon the heads of all who sat beneath, 

Lords, ladies, captains, counsellors, or priests, 

Their choice nobility and flower, not only 

Of this, but each Philistian city round, 

Met from all parts to solemnize this feast. 

Samson, with these immixed, inevitably 

Pudled down the same destruction on himself; 

The vulgar only 'scaped, who stood without. 



6. SATAN'S ENCOUNTER WITH DEATH. — iV/i«o«. 

Black it stood as night, 

Fierce as ten furies, terrible as hell. 

And shook a dreadful dart ; what seemed his head 

The likeness of a kingly crown had on. 

Satan was now at hand ; and from his seat 

The monster moving onward came as fast, 

With horrid strides ; hell trembled as he strode. 

The andaunted fiend what this might be admired, 

Admired, not feared ; .God and His Son except, 

Created thing naught valued he, nor shunned. 

And with disdainful look thus first began : — 

" Whence, and what art thou, execrable shape ! 
That darest, though grim and terrible, advance 
Thy miscreated iront athwart my way 
To yonder gates ? Through them I mean to paai 
That be assured, without leave asked of thee : 
Retire, or taste thy tolly ; and learn by proof, 
Hellborn ! not to coniend with spirits of Heavea t 

To whom the goblin, full of wrath, replied : - - 



I 



N-ir-IlATlVE AUT) LYKICAL. — UUGHES. 409 

•* Art tliou that traitor angel, art thou he, 

Who first broke peace in Heaven, and faith, till thei 

Unbroken, and in proud rebellious arms 

Drew ai'ter him the third part of Heaven's sons 

Conjured against the Highest; for which both thou 

And they, outcast from God, are here condemned 

To waste eternal days in woe and pain ? 

And rockon'st thou thyself with spirits of Heaveu. 

Hell-doomed ! and breathest defiance here and scorn, 

Where I reign king, and, to enrage thee more 

Thy king and lord ! Back to thy punishment, 

False fugitive! and to thy speed add wings; 

Lest with a whip of scorpions I pursue 

Thy lingering, or with one stroke of this dart 

Strange horror seize thee, and pangs unfelt before." 

So spake the grisly terror ; and in shape. 
So speaking, and so threatening, grew ten-fold 
More dreadful and deform : on the other side, 
Incensed with indignation, Satan stood 
Untei-rificd, and like a comet burned. 
That fires the length of Ophiuchus huge 
In the Arctic sky, and from his horrid hair 
Shakes pestilence and war. Each at the head 
Levelled his deadly aim ; their fatal hands 
No second stroke intend ; and such a frown 
Each cast at the other, as when two black clouds, 
With Heaven's artillery fraught, come rattling on 
Over the Caspian ; then stand front to front 
Hovering a space, till winds the signal blow 
To join their dark encounter in mid air : 
So frowned the mighty combatants, that hell 
Grew darker at their frown ; so matched they stood; 
For never but once more was either like 
To meet so great a Foe : and now great deeds 
Had been achieved, whereof all hell had rung. 
Had not the snaky sorceress that sat 
Fa,st by hell -gate, and kept the fatal key, 
Risen, and with hideous outcry rushed between. 



I 



6. EKLSHAZZAR'S VBAST. — T. S. Huirhes. AJaptation. 

Joy holds her court in great Belshazzar's haU, 
"VN'here his proud lords attend their monarch's call. 
The rarest dainties of the teeming East 
Provoke the revel and adorn the feast. 
And now the monarch rises, — " Pour," he ones 
" To the great gods, the Assyrian deities ! 
Pouj (brth libations of the rosy wiue 



41 C 'fHE STANDAPD SPEAKER. 

To Nebo, Bel, and all the powers divine ! 
Those golden vessels crown, which erewhile stood 
Fast by the oracle of Judah's (ioa, 
Till that accursed race — " 

But why, king ! 
Why dost thou start, with livid cheek ? - - why fling 
The untasted goblet fi-om thy trembling hand ? 
Why shake thy joints, thy feet forget to stand ? 
Why roams thine eye, which seems in wild amaze 
To shun some object, yet returns to gaze, — 
Then shrinks again appalled, as if the tomb 
Had sent a spirit from its inmost gloom ? 

Awful the horror, when Belshazzar raised 

His arm, and pointed where the vision blazed! 

For see ! enrobed in flame, a mystic shade, 

As of a hand, a red right-hand, displayed ! 

And, slowly moving o'er the wall, appear 

Letters of fate, and characters of fear. 

In deathlike silence grouped, the revellers all 

Fix their glazed eyebiiUs on the illumined wall. 

See! now the vision brightens, — now 'tis gone, 

Like meteor flash, like Heaven's own lightning flown '. 

But, though the hand hath vanished, what it writ 

Is uneftaced. Who will interpret it ? 

In vain the sages try their utmost skill ; 

The mystic letters are unconstrued still. 

" Quick, bring the Prophet ! — let his tongue proelaim 
The mystery of that visionary flame." 
The holy Prophet came, and stood upright, 
With brow serene, before Belshazzar's sight. 
The monarch pointed ti'enibling to the wall : 
" Behold the portents that our heart appall ! 
Interpret them, Prophet ! thou shalt know 
What gifts Assyria's monarch can bestow." 

Unutterably awful was the eye 
Which met the monarch's ; and the stern reply 
Fell heavy on his soul : " Thy gifts withhold, 
Nor tempt the Spirit of the Law, with gold. 
Belshazzar, hear what these dread words reveal . 
That lot on which the Eternal sets his seal. 
Thy kingdom numbered, and thy glory flown 
The Mede and Persian revel on thy throne. 
Weighed in the balance, thou hast kicked the beaffi , 
9ee to yon Western sun the lances gleam, 
Which, ere his Orient rays adorn the sky, 
Thy blood shall sully with a crimson dye.' 



NARRATIVE AND LYRICAL. — HKMANg 411 

In the dire carnage of that night's dread hour, 
Crushed mid the ruins cf his crumbling power, 
Belyhazzar fell heneath an unknown blow — 
His kingdom wasted, and its pride laid low ! 



7. BERNARDO DEL CARPIO. — jl/rs. Hemann 
rte celebrated Spanish champion, Bernardo del Carpio, navm? made many inelfeotaal effort* 
k) procure the release of his father, the Cnunt Saldana, who had been iniprisoneii, by Kiuj 
Alphonso of Asturias, almost from the time of Uernanlo's l)iilh, at hist took up arms, in despair. 
The war •.vliich ht maintained proved so il.stnictive, that the men of the land >;athered round 
the kiuL', ami united in demanding S il ! ii '- : i ! i y Alpiiougo accnrdin^'Iy olTered Bernardo 
Immediate possession of his father's i : i uige for his castle of Carpio. Bernardo, 

without hesitation, pave up his str n 1 his captives; and, beinjj assured that his 

father was then on his way from pri> i: i 1 • i tliwith the kinj; to meet him. " And when 
he saw his fath-'r approaching, he e.xchuni'd," says the ancient chronicle, "' 0, God ! is the 
Count of Saldana indeed coming ? ' ' Look where he is,' rei)lied the cruel king, ' and now go 
and greet him, whom you have so long desired to see.'" The remainder of the story will be 
found related in the liallad. The chronicles and romances leave us nearly in the dark as to Ber- 
nardo's history after this event. 

The warrior bowed his crested head, and tamed his heart of fire, 

And sued the haughty king to free his long-imprisoned sire ; 

" I bring thee here my fortress-keys, I bring my captive train, 

I pledge thee faith, my liege, my lord ! — ! break my father's 

chain ! " 
" Rise, rise ! even now thy father comes, a ransomed man, this day ! 
Mount thy good horse ; and thou and I will meet him on his way.*' 
Then lightly rose that loyal son, and bounded on his steed. 
And urged, as if with lance in rest, the charger's foamy speed. 

And lo ! from far, as on they pressed, there came a glittering band, 
With one that 'midst them stately rode, as a leader in the land : 
" Now haste, Bernardo, haste ! for there, in very truth, is he, 
The father whom thy faithful heart hath yearned so long to see." 

His dark eye flashed, his proud breast heaved, his cheek's hue came 

and went ; 
He reached that gray-haired chieftain's side, and there, dismounting, 

bent ; 
A lowly knee to earth he bent, his father's hand "he took — 
What was there in its touch that all his fiery spirit shook ? 
That hand was cold, — a frozen thing, — it dropped from his like lead ! 
He looked up to the face above, — tlie face was of the dead ! 
A plume waved o'er the noble brow, — the brow was fixed and white. 
He met, at last, his father's eyes, — but in them was no sight ! 

Up from the gi-ound he sprang and gazed ; — but who cbuld paint thac 

gaze ? 
They hushed their very hearts, that saw its horror and amaze : — 
They might have chained him, as before that stony form he stood ; 
For the power was stricken from his arm, and from his lip the blood, 

" Father ! ' at length he murmured low, and wept like childhood then 
Talk n /t of grief till thou hast seen the teare of warlik'j men ' 



iX2 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

fie thought on all his glorious hopes, and all his young renowu, - 
Ho flung his falchion from his side, and in the dust sat down. 

rhen covering with his steel-gloved hands his darkly mournful brow. 
" No more, there is no more," he said, " to lift the sword for, now , 
My king is false, — my hope betrayed ! My father — O ! the worth 
The glory, and the loveliness, are passed away from earth ! 

" I thought to stand where banners waved, my sire, beside thee, yet ! 
[ would that there our kindred blood on Spain's free soil had met ! 
Thou wouldst have known my spirit, then : — for thee my fields wer< 

won ; 
And thou hast perished in thy chains, as though thou hadst no son ! ' 

Then, starting from the ground once more, he seized the monarch'g 

reia, 
Amidst the pale and wildered looks of all the courtier train ; 
And, with a fierce, o'ermastering grasp, the rearing war-horse led, 
And sternly set them face to face, — the king before the dead : — 

" Came I not forth, upon thy pledge, my father's hand to kiss ? 

— Be still, and gaze thou on, false king ! and tell me what is this ? 
The voice, the glance, the heart I sought, — give answer, where are 

they? 

— If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, send life through this cold 

clay! 

" Into these glassy eyes put light ; — be still ! keep down thine ire ! — 
Bid these white lips a blessing speak, — this earth is not my sire : — 
Grive me back him for whom I strove, for whom my blood was shed ! — 
Thou canst not ? — and a king ! — his dust be mountains on thy head ! " 

He loosed the steed, — his slack hand fell ; — upon the silent face 
He cast one long, deep, troubled look, then turned from that sad place : 
His hope was crushed, his after fate untold in martial strain : — 
His banner led the spears no more, amidst the hills of Spain. 



8. CASABIANCA. —Mrs. Hemans. 

Young Casablanca, a boy about thirteen years old, son to the Admiral of the Orient, remained 
at his post (in the battle of the Nile) after the ship had taicen fire, and all the guns had bee* 
abandoned : and perished in the explosion of the vessel, when the flames had reached the pow- 
der. 

The boy stood on the burning deck, whence all but he had fled ; 
The flame that lit the battle's wreck shone round him o'er the dead. 
Yet beautiful and bright he stood, as born to rule the storm, — 
A cieature of heroic blood, a proud, though child-like form. 

The flames rolled on — he would not go, without his Father's word , 
Tha* Father, faint in death below, his voice no longer heard. 
He called aloud : — " Say, Father, say, if yet my task is done * " 
He kjoe-? not that the chieftain lay, unwnscious of his son. 



NARRATIVE AXD LYRICAL.— lEMANS. 41 J 

Speak, Father ! " once again he cried, " if I may yet be ^ne ! 
Incl " but the booming shots replied, and fast the flames rollod OD 
L'pon his brow ho felt their breath, and in his waving hair, 
A.nd looked from tnat lone post of death, in still, yet brave despair. 

And shouted but once more aloud, " My Father ! must I stay ? " 
While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud, the wreathing fires made 

way. 
They wrapped the ship in sj^lendor wild, they caught tl e flag on high. 
And streamed above the gallant child, like banners in the sky. 

There came a burst oi" thunder sound, — the boy — ! where was be '' 
Ask of the winds, that far around with fragments strewed the sea, 
With mast, and helm, and pennon fair, that well had borne their part ! 
But the noblest thing which perished there was that young, faithful 
heart ! 



9. KOCKS OF MY COV^TRY. —Mrs. Hemans. 

Rocks of my country ! let the cloud your crested heights array, 
And rise ye, like a fortress proud, above the surge and spray ! 
My spirit greets you as ye stand, breasting the billow's foam : 

! thus forever guard the land, the severed Land of Home ! 

1 have left rich blue skies behind, lighting up classic shrines, 
And music in the southern wind, and sunshine on the vines. 
The breathings of the myrtle-flowers have floated o'er my way ,■ 
The pilgrim's voice, at vesper-hours, hath soothed me with its lay. 

The Isles of Greece, the Hills of Spain, the purple Heavens of Rome 
Yes, all are glorious ; — yet again I bless thee, Land of Home ! 
For thine the Sabbath peace, my land ! and thine the guarded hearth 
And thine the dead, the noble band, that make thee holy earth. 

Their voices meet me in thy breeze, their steps are on thy plains ; 
Their names by old majestic trees are whispered round thy fanes. 
Their blood hath mingled with the tide of thine exulting sea ; 
! be it still a joy, a pride, to live and die for thee ! 



10. THE TWO HOMES. —Mrs. Hemans. 

Seest thou my home ? — 't is where yon woods are waving, 
In their dark richness, to the summer air ; 
Where yon blue stream, a thousand flower-banks .aving, 
Leads down the hills, a vein of light, — 't is there ! 

'Midst those green wilds how many a fount lies gleaming 
Fringed with the violet, colored with the skies !■ 
My boyhood's haunt, through days of summer dreaming 
Under young leaves that shook with melodies. 

My homo ! the spirit of its love is breathing 
Ixj every wind that plays across my trade * 



114 THE STANDARD ^pEARifiU. 

From its white walls the very tendrils wreathing 
Seem with soft links to draw the wanderer back. 

There am I loved, — there prayed for, — there my mathei 
Sits by the hearth with meekly thoughtful eye ; 
There my young sisters watch to greet their brother — 
Soon their glad footsteps down the path will ij. 

There, in sweet strains of kindred music blending, 

All the home-voices meet at day's decline ; 

One are those tones, as from one heart ascending : 

There laughs my home, — sad stranger ! where is thine ? -« 

Ask'st thou of mine ? — In solemn peace 't is lying, 

Far o'er the deserts and the tombs away ; 

'T is where I, too, am loved with love undying, 

And fond hearts wait my step. — But where are they? 

A&-k where the earth's departed have their dwelling : 

Ask of the clouds, the stars, the trackless air ! 

I know it not, yet trust the whisper, telling 

My lonely heart that love unchanged is there. 

And what is home and where, but with the loving ? 
Happy thou art, that so canst gaze on thine ! 
• My spirit feels but, in its weary ro\ang, 
That with the dead, where'er they be, is mine. 

Go to thy home, rejoicing son and brother ! 
Bear in fresh gladness to the household scene ! 
For me, too, watch the sister and the mother, 
I will believe — but dark seas roll between. 



11. INVOCATION. —JV/rs. Hemans. 

Ansvter me, burning stars of night ! where is the spirit gone, 
That past the reach of human sight as a swift breeze hath Sown ? -> 
And the stars answered me, " We roll in light and power on high; 
But, of the never-dying soul, ask that which cannot die." 

! many-toned and chainless wind ! thou art a wanderer free ; 
Tell me if thou its place canst find, far over mount and sea ? — 
And the wind murnmred, in reply, " The blue deep I have crossed. 
A.nd met its barks and billows high, but not what thou hast lost." 
Ye clouds that gorgeously repose around the setting sun. 
Answer ! have ye a home for those whose earthly race is run ? — 
The bright clouds answered, " We depart, we vanish from the sky; 
Ask what is deathless in thy heart for that which cannot die." 

Speak, than, thou voice of God within, thou of the deep, low tone! 
Answer me through life's restless din, where is the spirit flown ? — 
And the voice answered, " Be thou still ! Enough to know is given 
Gbuds, winds and stars, their part ftilfil, — thine is to trust in Heaven." 



r 



WAKRATIVE AND LYRICAL. — SCOTT. 41 S 

K. UOCniSYAR. — Sir rralter Scott. 

O. YOJNQ Lochinvar is come out of the West, — 
Througli nil the wide Border his steed was the best ; 
And save his good broadsword he weapons had none, — 
Ho rode all unarmed and he rode all alone. 
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, 
There never was knight like the young Loehinvar. 

He staid not for brake, and he stopped not for stone, 

He swam the P]ske river where ford there was none ; 

But ere he alighted at Nctherby gate, 

The bride had consented, the gallant came late : 

For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, 

Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. 

So boldly he entered the Netherby hall, 

'Mong bride's-raen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all . 

Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword 

(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word), 

" 0, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, 

Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar ? " 

" I long wooed your daughter, — my suit you denied ; — 

Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide ; 

And now am I come, with this lost love of mine. 

To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. 

There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, 

That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar." 

The bride kissed the goblet ; the knight took it up, 
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup. 
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, 
With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. 
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar, — 
" Now tread we a measure ! " said young Lochinvar 

So stately his form, and so lovely her face, 

That never a hall such a galliard did grace ; 

While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, 

And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume 

And the bridemaidens whispered, " ' Twere better, by far. 

To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar." 

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear. 

When they reached the hall door, and the charger stood neat 

So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung. 

So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! 

" She is won ! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur , 

They '11 have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young LochinvM 

rhere was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan ; 

Forsters, Fenwioks. and Musgraves, they rode, and they rac 



i\Q THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee, 
But the lost bride of Nether by ne 'er did they see. 
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, 
Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar' 



•A MARMION TAKING LEAVE OF DOUGLAS. — Sir Walter Scou 

The train from out the castle drew ; 
But IManniou stopped to bid adieu : — 

"Though somethiig I might 'plain," he said. 
" Of cold respect to stranger guest, 
Sent hither by your King's behest, 

While in Tantallon's towers I stayed, — 
Part we in friendship from your land, 
And, no!)le Earl, receive my hand." 
But Douglas round him drew his cloak, 
Folded his arms, and thus he spoke : — 
•' My manors, halls and bowers, shall still 
Be open, at my sovereign's will; 
To each onp whom he lists, howe'er 
Unmeet to be the owner's peer. 
My castles are my King's alone, 
From turret to foundation-stone ; — 
The limid of Douglas is his own ; 
And never shall in friendly grasp 
The hand of such as Marniion clasp ! " 
Burned JMarraion's swarthy cheek like fire 
And shook his very frame for ire, 

And — " This to me ! " he said ; 
*' An 't were not for thy hoary beard, 
Such hand as Marmion's had not spareG 

To cleave the Douglas' head ! 
And first 1 tell thee, haughty Peer, 
He who does England's message here, 
Although the meanest in her state, 
May well, proud Angus, be thy mate ! 
And, Douglas, more I tell thee here, 

Even in thy pitch of pride. 
Here, in thy hold, thy vassals near 
''Nay, never look upon your Lord, 
ind lay your hands upon your sword !). 

I tell thee, thou 'rt defied ! 
And if thou saidst I am not peer 
To any lord in Scotland here, 
Lowland or Highland, far or near, 

Lord Angus, thou hast lied ! " 
On the Earl's cheek the flush of rag® 
O'ercame the ashen hue of age , 



NARRATIVE CfD LYRICAL. SCOTT. 

Fierce he broke forth : — " And darest thou, then. 
To })card the lion in his den, — 

The Douglas in his hall ? 
Ana hopest thou hence unscathed to go ? 
No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no! 
Up drawbridge, grooms ! — what, warder, ho ! 

Let the portcullis fall." 
Lord Marniion turned, — well was his need, — 
And dashed the rowels in his steed ; 
Like arrow through the archway sprung, 
The ponderous gate behind him rung : 
To pass, there was such scanty room. 
The bars, descending, razed his plume. 

The steed along the drawbridge flies. 

Just as it trembled on the rise : 

Not lighter does the swallow skim 

Along the smooth lake's level brim : 

And when Lord Marmion reached his ban(i, 

He halts, and turns with clenched hand, 

A shout of loud defiance pours. 

And shakes his gauntlet at the towers ! 



14. THE DEATH OF MAR3II0N. — 5cof«. 

And soon straight up the hill there rode 

Two horsemen, drenched with gore, 
And in their arms, a helpless load, 

A wounded knight they bore. 
EQs hand still strained the broken brand, 
His arms were smeared with blood and sand ; 
Dragged from among the horses' feet, 
With dinted shield and helmet beat, 
The falcon-crest and plumage gone, — 
Can that be haughty Marmion ? 
Young Blount his armor did unlace, 
And, gazing on his ghastly face, 

Said — " By Saint George, he 's gone ! 
The spcar-wound has our master sped : 
And ?ee the deep cut on his head ! 

Good-night to Marmion ! " 
" Unnurtured Blount ! thy brawling ceajse ; 
He opes his eyes," said Eustace; " peace !" 
When, doiled his casque, he felt free air, 
Around 'gan Marmion wildly stare ; 
" Where 's Harry Blount ? Fitz Eustace, where I 
Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare ? 
Redeem my pennon ! — charge again ! 
Cry, 'Marmion to the rescue ! ' — Vain ! 
27 



4Z? THE STANDARD SPEAKEB. 

Last of my race, on battle-plain 
That shout shall ne'er be heard again ! 
Must I bid twice ? — hence, varlets ! fly 
Leave Marmion here alone — to die.'' 

With fruitless labor Clara bound, 

And strove to stanch the gushing -wound. 

The war, that for a space did fail, 

Now, trebly thundering, swelled the gale, 

And " Stanley ! " was the cry ; 
A light on Marmion's visage spread. 

And fired his glazing eye ; 
With dying hand, above his head 
He shook the fragment of his blade, 

And shouted, " Victory ! " 
" Charge, Chester, charge ! On, Stanley, oi 

Were the last words of Marmion. 



15. THE DEATH OF BERTRAM. — Sir Walter BroSS 

The outmost crowd have heard a sound, 
Like horse's hoof on hardened ground ; 
Nearer it came, and yet more near, — 
The very Jeath's-men paused to hear. 
'T is in the churchyard now — the tread 
Hath waked the dwelling of the dead ! 
Fresh sod, and old sepulchral stone, 
Return the tramp in varied tone. 
All eyes upon the gateway hung. 
When through the Gothic arch there sproi^ 
A horseman armed, at headlong speed — 
Sable his cloak, his plume, his steed. 
Fire from the flinty floor was spurned. 
The vaults unwonted clang returned ! — 
One instant's glance around he threw, 
From saddle-bow his pistol drew. 
G-rimly determined was his look! 
His charger with the spurs he strook, — 
All scattered backward as he came. 
For all knew Bertram Risingham ! 
rhree bounds that noble courser gave ; 
rhe first has reached the central nave, 
The second cleared the chancel wide, 
The third he was at Wyclifie's side ' 
Pull levelled at the Baron's head, 
Rang the report, — the bullet sped, — » 
And to his long account, and last. 
Without a groan, dark Oswald j«st 



NARRATIVE AND LYRICAL. SCOTT. 419 

All was so quick, that it raiirht seem 
A flash of lightning, or a dream. 

While yet the smoke tue deed conecaiS, 
Bertram his ready charger wheels ; 
But floundered on the pavement floor 
The pteed, and down the rider bore, 
And Dursting in the headlong sway, 
The faithless saddle-girths gave way. 
'T was while he toiled him to be freed^ 
And with the rein to raise the steed, 
That from amazement's iron trance 
All Wycliife's soldiers waked at once. 
Sword, halberd, musket-but, their blows 
Hailed upon Bertram as he rose ; 
A score of pikes, with each a wound. 
Bore down and pinned him to the ground • . 
But still his struggling force he rears, 
'Gainst hacking brands and stabbing spears ,• 
Thrice from assailants shook him free, 
Once gained his feet, and twice his knee. 
By ten-fold odds oppressed, at length, 
Despite his struggles and his strength, 
He took a hundred mortal wounds. 
As mute as fox 'mongst mangling hounds ; 
And when he died, his parting groan 
Had more of laughter than of moan ! 
They gazed, as when a lion dies. 
And hunters scarcely trust their eyes, 
But bend their weapons on the slain, 
Lest the grim king should rouse again ! 
Then blow and insult some renewed. 
And from the trunk the head had hewed 
But Basil's voice the deed forbade ; 
A mantle o'er the corse he laid : — 
" Fell as he was in act and mind, 
He left no bolder heart behind : 
Then give him, for a soldier meet, 
A soldier's cloak for winding-sheet.' 



16. THE LOVE OF COUNTRY.— 5ir Walter Scott 

Breathes there a man with soxA so dead. 
Who never to himself hath said, 
" This is my own, my native land " ? 
Whose heart hath ne'er within him Dumed, 
As home his footsteps he hath turned, 
From wandtTing on a foreign strand ? 



420 THE SXANDAKD SPEAKEK. 

If such there breathe, go, mark him woB 
For hhn ao minstrel raptures swell ! 
High though his titles, proud his name, 
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim ; 
Despite those titles, power, >nd pel^ 
The wretch, concentred all in self 
Living, shall forfeit fair renown, 
And, doubly dying, shall go down 
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung. 
Unwept, unhonored, and unsung, 



IT THE BARON'S LAST BANQUET.— J/ierf G. Greene. 

ER a low couch the setting sun had thrown its latest ray, 
Where, in his last strong agony, a dying warrior lay, — 

The stern old Baron Rudiger, whose frame had ne'er been bent 
By wasting pain, till time and toil its iron strength had spent. 

'■• They come around me here, and say my days of life are o'er, — 
That I shall mount my noble steed and lead my band no more ; 
They come, and, to my beard, they dare to tell me now that I, 
Their own liege lord and master born, that I — ha ! ha ! — must die. 

"And what is death ? I 've dared him oft, before the Paynim spear 
Think ye he 's entered at my gate — has come to seek me here ? 

1 've met him, faced him, scorned him, when the fight was raging 

hot; — 
I '11 try his might, I '11 brave his power ! — defy, and fear him not ! 

" Ho ! sound the tocsin from my tower, and fire the culverin ; 
Bid each retainer arm with speed ; call every vassal in. 
Up with my banner on the wall, — the banquet-board prepare, — 
Throw wide the portal of my hall, and bring my armor there ! " 

An hundred hands were busy then : the banquet forth was spread, 
And rung the heavy oaken iioor with many a martial tread ; 
While from the rich, dark tracery, along the vaulted wall, 
Lights gleamed on harness, plume and spear, o'er the proud old Grothie 
hall. 

Fast hurrying through the outer gate, the mailed retainers poured, 
On through the portal's frowning arch, and thronged around the board 
While at its head, within his dark, carved, oaken chair of state, 
Armed cap-a-pie, stern Rudiger, with girded falchion, sate. 

" Fill every beaker up, my men ! — pour forth the cheering wine ! 
Ihere 's life and strength in every drop, — thanksgiving to the vine ! 
Are ye all there, my vassals true ? — mine eyes are waxing dim . 
Fill round, my tried and fearless ones, each goblet to the brim 



NARllATIVE AND LYRICAL. — BROWNING. 4*11 

' Ye TC there, but yet I see you not ! — draw forth each trusty sword, 
A.nd let me hear your faithful steel clash once around my board ! 
I hear it faintly ; — louder yet ! What clogs my heavy breath ? 
Up, all ! — and shout for Rudiger, ' Defiance u:to death ! ' " 

Bowl rang to bowl, steel clanged to steel, and rose a deafening cry, 
That made the torches flare around and shook tlie flags on high : 
" Ho ! cravens ! do ye fear him ? Slaves ! traitors ! have ye flown ? 
*lo ! cowards, have ye left me to racet him here alone ? 

" But I defy him ! — let him come ! " Down rang the massy cup, 
While from its sheath the ready blade cimie flashing half-way up j 
And, with the black and heavy plumes scarce trembling on hi/i head. 
There, in his dark, carved, oaken chair, old Eudiger sat — dead ! 



"HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO ATX," 1« 
— Robert Browning. 

I SPRANG to the stirrup, and Joris, and he ; 

I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three ; 

" Good speed ! " cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew ; 

" Speed ! " echoed the wall to us galloping through ; 

Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, 

And into the midnight we galloped abreast. 

Not a word to each other ; we kept the great pace 
Neck by neck, stride for stride, never changing our place 
I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight. 
Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right, 
Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chained slacker the bit, — 
Nor galloped less steadily Roland, a whit. 

'T was moonset at starting ; but while we drew near 

Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear ; 

At Boom a great yellow star came out to see ; 

At Duffekl, 'twas morning as plain as could be ; 

And from jMecheln church-steeple we heard the half-cl\ime,. 

So Joris broke silence with, " Yet there is time ! " 

At Aerschot, up leaped of a sudden the sun, 
And against him tne cattle stood black everyone. 
To stare through the mist at us galloping past, 
And I saw my stc'ut galloper Roland, at last, . 
With resolnte shoulders, each butting away 
The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray. 

And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back 
For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track * 
And one eye's black intelligence. — e\ier that glanco 
O'er its white edge at im\ his own master, askance 



122 



THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 



A-iid the thick heavy spume-flakes which aye anc| anoa 
His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on. 

By Hasselt, Dirck groaned ; -and cried Joris, " Stay spur 

Four lloos galloped bravely, the fault 's not in her, 

We '11 remember at Aix " * — for one heard the quick wheeac 

Of her chest, saw the stretched neck and staggering knees. 

And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank, 

As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank. 

So we were left galloping, Joris and I, 

Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky ; 

The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh, 

'Neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff ; 

Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white. 

And " Gallop," gasped Joris, " for Aix is in sight ! " 

" How they '11 greet us ! '' — and all in a moment his roan 
Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone ; 
And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight 
Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate, 
With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, 
And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim. 

Then I cast loose my buffcoat, each holster let fall, 

Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all, 

Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear. 

Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer ; 

Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good, 

Till at length into Aix Roland galloped 'and stood. 

And all I remember is, friends flocking round 

As I sate with his head 'twist my knees on the gi'ound. 

And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine, 

As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine, 

Which (the burgesses voted by common consent) 

Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent 

19 THE SOLDIER FROM BINGEN.— Mrs. iVor«on. 

A SOLDIEI of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, 

Tnere was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's tean 

But a comrade stood beside him, while the life-blood ebbed away, 

And bent with pitying glance to hear each word he had to say. 

The dying soldier faltered, as he took that comrade's hand, 

And hs said : "I never more shall see my own — my native land \ 

Take a message and a token to the distant friends of mine. 

For I was born at Bitjgen — at Bingen on the Rhine ! 

* Tlie X in this word is not sounde*!- 



«ARRAT1VE AND LYFUCAL. — NOIIT..N. 423 

' till my brothers and companions, when they meet anJ crowd around. 
To hear my mournful story, in the pleasant vineyard ground, 
That we fought the battle bravely, and wi;en the day was done, 
Full many a corse lay ghastly pale, beneath the setting sun ; 
And midst the dead and dying were some grown old in wars, 
the death-wound on their gallant breasts, — the last of many scars ! 
IJut some were young, and suddenly beheld Life's morn decline, — 
And one had come from Eingen — fair Bingen on the Rhine . 

•* Tell my mother that her other sons shall comfort her old age, 

For T was still a truant bird, that thought his home a cage ; 

For my father was a soldier, and, even when a cliild. 

My heart leaped forth to hear him tell of struggles fierce and wild ; 

And when he died, and left us to divide his scanty hoard, 

I let them take whate'er they would, but kept my father's sword ! 

And with boyish love I hung it where the bright light used to 

shine. 
On the cottage wall at Bingen — calm Bingen on the Rhine ! 

" Tell my sisters not to weep for me, and sob with drooping head, 
When the troops come marching home again, with glad and gallant 

tread ; 
But to look upon them proudly, with a calm and steadfast eye, 
For their brother was a soldier, too, and not afraid to die ! 
And if a comrade seek her love, I ask her in my name 
To listen to him kindly, without regret and shame ; 
And to hang the old sword in its place — (my father's sword and 

mine). 
For the honor of old Bingen — dear Bingen on the Rhine ! 

" There 's another, — not a sister, — in happy days gone by, 

You 'd have known her by the merriment that sparkled in her eye ; 

Too innocent for coquetry, too fond for idle scorning, — 

! friend, I fear the lightest heart makes sometimes heaviest mourn« 

ing! . . . . 

Tell her the last night of my life — (for, ere the moon be risen, 
My body will be out of pain, my soul be out of prison), — 

1 dreamed I stood with her, and saw the yellow sunlight shine 
On the vine-clad hills of Bingen — fair Bingen on the Rhine ! 

" I saw the blue Rhine sweep along, — I heard, or seemed to hear. 

The German songs we used to sing, in chorus sweet and clear ; 

And down the pleasant river, and up the slanting hill. 

The echoing chorus sounded, through the evening calm and still ; 

And her glad blue eyes were on rae, as we passed, with friendly talk 

Down many a path beloved of yore, and well remembered walk ; 

And her little hand lay lightly, confidingly, in mine, — 

But we '11 mQvi no n\ore at Bingen — loved Bingen on the Rhine • " 



124 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

His Irembljiig voice grew faint and hoarse, his gasp was childish weak 
His eyes put on a dying look, — he sighed, and r-eased to speak ; 
His comrade bent to lift him, but the spark of life had fled — 
The soldier of the Legion in a foreign land was dead ! 
And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she looked down 
On the red sand of the battle-field, with bloody corses strewn ! 
Yes, calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light seemed to shine, 
As it shone on distant Bingen — fair Bingen on the Rhine . 



20. THE TORCH OF LIBERTY. — Thongs Moore, 

I SAW it all in Fancy's glass — 

Herself the fair, the wild magician, 
Who bade this splendid day-dream pass, 

And named each gliding apparition. 
'T was like a torch-race — such as they 

Of Greece performed, in ages gone, 
When the fleet youths, in long array. 

Passed the bright torch triumphant on. 

I saw the expectant Nations stand. 

To catch the coming flame in turn ; — 
I saw. from ready hand to hand. 

The Clear, though struggling, glory bura. 
And, 0, their joy, as it came near, 

'T was, in itself, a joy to see ; — 
While Fancy whispe-red in my ear, 

" That torch they pass is Liberty ! " 

And each, as she received the flame, 

Lighted her altar with its ray; 
Then, smiling, to the next who camo, 

Speeded It on its sparkling way. 
From Albion first, whose ancient shrine 

Was furnished with the fire already, 
Columbia caught the boon divine. 

And lit a flame, like Albion's, steady. 

The splendid gift then Gallia took. 

And, like a wild Bacchante, raising 
The brand aloft, its sparkles shook, 

As she would set the world a-blazing • 
Thus, kindling wild, so fierce and high 

Her altar blazed into the air. 
That Albion, to that fire too nigh. 

Shrank back, and shuddered at its glare 

N'ixt, Spain, — so new was light to her, 
Leaped at the torch ; but, ere the spark 



NARRATIVE AND LfBICAL. DTMOUD._ 42fi 

That fell upon her shrine could stir, 

T was quenched, and all again was dark ! 

Yet, no — not quenched, — a treasure, worti 
So much to mortals, rarely dies : 

Again her living light looked forth, 
And shone, a beacon, in all • eyes ! 

Who next received the flame ? Alas ! 

Unworthy Naples. — Shame of shames, 
That ever through such hands should pass 

That brightest of all earthly flumes ! 
Scarce had her fingers touched the torch, 

When, frighted by the sparks it shed, 
Nor waiting even to feel the scorch, 

She dropped it to the earth — and fled ! 

And fallen it might have long remained ; 

But Greece, who saw her moment now, 
Caught up the prize, though prostrate, stained, 

And waved it round her beauteous brow. 
And Fancy bade -me mark where, o'er 

Her altar, as its flame ascended. 
Fair laurelled spirits seemed to soar, 

Who thus in song their voices blended : 

" Shine, shine forever, glorious Flame, 

Divinest gift of gods to men ' 
From Greece thy earliest splendor came, 

To Greece thy ray returns again. 
Take, Freedom, take thy radiant round ; 

When dinuned, revive, — when lost, return. 
Till not a shrine through earth be found. 

On which thy glories shall not burn ! " 



21. THE SAILOR-BOY'S DREAM.— Dimond. 

In slumbers of midnight the sailor-boy lay, 

HLs hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind 
But, watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away, 

And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind. 

He dreamed of his home, of his dear native bowers, 

And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn ; 
While memory stood side-wise, half covered with floweiB- 

And restored every rose, but secreted its thorn. 

The jessfxmine clambers in flower o'er the thatch, 

And the swallow sings sweet from her nest in the waJl li 

All trembling with transport, he raises the latch, ! 

And th3 voi'^s of loved ones reply to his call \ 



426 THE STANDARD SPEAKER, 

A father bends o'er him with looks of delight, — 
His cheek is impearled with a mother's warm tear 

And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss unite 

With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds d^r. 

The heart of the sleeper b'eats high in his breast, 
Joy quiclcens his jjulse — all liia hardships seem o'er 

And a murm-ur of happiness steals through his rest — 
" God ! thou hast blest me, — I ask for no more." 

Ah ! whence is 'that flame which now bursts on his eye! 

All ! what is that sound that now 'larums his ear ? 
T is the lightning's red glare painting hell on the sky ! 

'T is the crashing of thunder, the groan of the sphere .' 

He springs from his hammock — he flies to the deck ; 

Amazement confronts him with images dire ; — 
Wild winds and mad waves drive the vessel a wreck, 

The masts fly in splinters — the shrouds are on fire ! 

Like mountains the billows tumultuouslj swell ; 

In vain the lost wretch calls on mercj/ to save ; — 
Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell, 

And the death-angel flaps his dark wings o'er the wave. 

0, sailor-boy ! woe to thy dream of delight ! 

In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss ; — 
Whei-e now is the picture that Fancy touched bright, 

Thy parent's fond pressure, and love's honeyed kiss ? 

0, saiior-boy ! sailor-boy ! never again 

Shall love, home or kindred, thy wishes repay ; 

Unblessed and unhonored, down deep in the main 
Pull many a score fathom, thy frame shall decay. 

No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee, 
Or redeem form or frame from the merciless surge , 

But the white foam of waves shall thy winding-sheet be 
And winds in the midnight of winter thy dirge. 

On beds of green sea-flower thy limbs shall be laid, 
Around thy white bones the red coral shall grow ; 

Of thy fair yellow locks threads of amber be made, 
And every part suit to thy mansion below. 

Days, months, years, and ages, shall circle away, 
And still the vast waters above thee shall roll ; 

Earth loses thy pattei n for ever and aye — 
0, sailor-boy ' sailor-boy ' peace to thy soul ! 



NAliEATlVE AND LYUICAL. SCHILI \Qi. til 

at CiMOM AUD i'YnilAS. — Adaptation of a translation from SohiUer, b) 8i> A 
Bulwer Lytlon. 

" 2^ow, Dioiiysius, — tyrunt, — die ! " 
Stern Damon with his poniard crept : 
The watchful guards upon hiui swept; 

The grim king niarlced his bearing high. 

" What wouldst thou with thy knite ? Reply ! "-- 

" The city from the tyrant free ! " — 

" The death-cross shall thy guerdon be.' 

" I am prepared for death, nor pray," 

Haughtily Damon said, " to live ; 

Enough, if thou one grace wilt give : 
For three brief suns the death delay ! 
A sister's nuptial rites now stay 
My promised coming, leagues away; 
I boast a friend, whose lilo for mine, 
If I should fail the cross, is thine." 

The tyrant mused, and smiled, and said, 

With gloomy craft, " So let it be ; 

Three days I will vouchsafe to thee. 
But, mark : if, when the time be sped, 
Thou fail'st, thy surety dies instead. 
His life shall buy thine own release ; 
Thy guilt atoned, my wrath shall cease." 

And Damon sought his friend : " The king 
Ordains, my life, the cross upon. 
Shall pay the deed I would have done ; 

Yet grants three days' delay to me, 

My sister's marriage-rites to sc^. 

If thou, my Pythias, wilt remain 

Hostage till I return again ! " 

One clasp of hands — and Pythias said 

No word, but to the tyrant strode, , 

While Damon went upon his road. \ 

Sre the third sun in Heaven was red, 

The rite was o'er, the sister wed ; 

And back, with anxious heart unquailing, 

He hastes to keep the pledge unfailing. 

Down the great rains unending bore ! 

Down from the hills the torrents rashed ? 

In one broad stream, the brooklets gushed 
Ard Damon halts beside the shore. 
Tiie uridgc was swept the tides before ! 
And the tunudtuous waves, in thunder. 
Rushed o'er the shattered aroh and u.ider 



iJ^f* THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

Frantic, dismayed, lie takes his stand — - 
Dismayed, he strays and shouts around -. 
His voice awakes no answering sound. 

No boat will leave the sheltering strand, 

To bear him to the wisljed-for land ; 

No boatman will Death's pilot be ; 

The wild stream gathers to a sea ! 

Prostrate a while he raves — he weeps ; 
Then raised his arms to Jove, and cried 
" Stay thou, 0, stay the maddening tide ! 
Midway, behold, the swift sun sweeps 
And ere he sink adown the deeps, 
If I should fail, his beams wUl see 
My friend's last anguish — slain for me ! " 

Fierce runs the stream ; — more broad it flc^ft; 

And wave on wave succeeds, and dies ; 

And hour on hour, remorseless, flies ; 
Despair at last to daring grows : 
Amid the flood his form he throws. 
With vigorous arm the roaring waves 
Cleaves, and a God that pities saves ! 

He wins the bank, his path pursues, 
The anxious terrors hound him on — 
Lo ! reddening in the evening sun, 
From far, the domes ef Syracuse ! 
When towards him comes Philostratus 
(His leal and trusty herdsman he), 
And to the master bends his knee. 

" Back ! — thou canst aid thy friend no more J 
The niggard time already 's flown — 
His life is forfeit — save thine own ! 
Hour after hour in hope he bore. 
Nor might his soul its faith give o'er ; 
Nor could the tyrant's scorn, deriding, 
Steal from that faith one thought confiding ! " 

*' Too late ! what horrors hast thou spoken ' 
Vain life, since it cannot requite him! 
But death can yet with me unite him ' 
No boast the tyrant's scorn shall make 
How friend to friend can faith forsake • 
But, from the double-death, shall know 
That Truth and Love yet live below ! " 

The sun sinks down : the gate 's in yieiv 
The cross looms dismal on the ground 



NARRATIVK AN'D LlRlCAL. SCHILLER. 423 

The eager crowd gape murmuring round. 
IjO ! Pythias bound the cross unto ! — 
When, crowd — guards — all — bursts Damon t-vough 
'• Me, doonisman ! " shouts he, — " me, ■•- alone '. 
His life is rescued — lo ! mine own ! ' 

Ajnazement seized the circling rinsr. 
Linked in each other's arms the pair 
Stood, thrilled with joy — yet anguish — there ! 

Moist every eye that gazed ; they bring 

The wondrous tidings to the king : 

His breast man's heart at length has known, 

And the friends stand before his throne. 

Long silent he, — and wondering, long 

Gazed on the pair, then said : " Depart 

Victors ; ye have subdued my heart ! 
Truth is no dream I its power is strong 1 
Give grace to him who owns his wrong ' 
'T is mine yo^tr suppliant now to be, — 
Ah, let the bond of Love hold Three ! " 



U THE BATTLE. — Trans/a^erf/roOT Schiller, by Sir E. Bulwer L^Aon 

Heavy and solemn, 

A cloudy column, 

Through the green plain they marching camo ! 
Measureless spread, like a table dread. 
For the wild grim dice of the iron game, 
Looks are bent on the shaking ground, 
Hearts beat loud with a knelling sound ; 
Swift by the breasts that must bear the brunt, 
Gallops the major along the front ; — 

"Halt!" 
And fettered they stand at the stark command, 
And the warriors, silent, halt ! 

Proud in the blush of morning glowing, • 

Wliat on the hill-top shines in flowing ? 

" See you the foeman's banners waving ? " — 

"We see the foeman's banners waving! '' 

" God be with ye, children and wife ! " 

Hark to the music, — the trump and the fife, — 

How they ring through the ranks, which they rouse to the stnfil* 

Thrilling they sound, with their glorious tone, — 

Thrilling they go througli the marrow and bonf " 

Brothers, God grant, when this life is o^er, 

In the life to come t\at we meet once more. J 



1:30 THE STANDAED SPEAKER. 

See tlie smoke how the lightning is cleaving asunder ! 

Hark ! the guns, peal on peal, how they boom ia their thuoder , 

From host to host, with kindling wund, 

The shouting signal circles round ; 

Ay, shout it forth to life or death, — 

Freer already breathes the breath ! 

The war is waging, slaughter raging, 

And heavy through the reeking pail 

The iron death-dice fall ! 
Nearer they close, — foes upon foes. 
" Ready ! " — from square to square it goes. 

They kneel as one man, from flank to flank, 
And the fire comes sharp from the foremost rank. 
Many a soldier to earth is sent. 
Many a gap by the balls is rent ; 
O'er the corse before springs the hinder man, 
That the line may not fail to the fearless van. 
To the right, to the left, and around and around, 
Death whirls in its dance on the bloody gi'ound. 
God's sunlight is quenched in the fiery fight, 
Over the host falls a brooding night ! 
B7-others, God grant, when this life is o'er, 
In the life to come that we meet once more ! 

The dead men lie bathed in the weltering blood, 

And the living are blent in the slippery flood, 

And the feet, as they reeling and sliding go, 

Stumble still on the corses that sleep below. 

'' What ! Francis ! " — " Give Charlotte my last farewell.** 

As the dying man murmurs, the thunders swell, — 

" I '11 give — God ! are their guns so near ? 

Ho ! comrades ! — yon volley ! — look sharp to the rear' -«^ 

I '11 give thy Charlotte thy last farewell ; 

Sleep soft ! where death thickest descendeth in rain, 

The friend thou forsakest thy side may regain ! " 

Hitherward, thitherward reels the fight ; 

Dark and more darkly day glooms into night , 

Brothers, God grant, when this life is o'e?, 

In the life to come that we meet once more ! 

Hark to the hoofs that galloping go . 

The adjutants flying, — 
The horsemen press hard on the panting foe 
Their tlmnder booms, in dying — 
Victory ! 
Terror has seized on the dastards all. 
And their colors fall ! 

Victory ' 



NARRAriTE AND IARICaL. — SCHILLEK. 431 

Closed is the brunt of tlie glorious fight ; 

And the day, like a conqueror, bursts on the nioht. 

Trumpet and fife swelling choral along, 

The triumph already sweeps marching in song 

Farewell, faUcn brothers; though this life be o'er, 

TJiere 's anotlier, in which xoe sJtall meet you once mon f 



24. TUE GLOVE. — 5c/ii7/er. Born, 1759 ; died, 180S. 

Before his lion-garden gate. 

The wild-beast combat to await, 

King Francis sate : 

Around him were his nobles placed, 

The balcony above was graced 

By ladies of the court, in gorgeous state : 

And as with his finger a sign he made, 

The iron grating was open laid, 

And with stately step and mien 

A lioii to enter was seen. 

With fearful look 

His mane he shook, 

And yawning wide. 

Stared around him on every side ; 

And stretched his giant limbs of stcength, 

And laid himself down at his fearful length 

And the king a second signal made, — 

And instant was opened wide 

A second gate, on the other side, 

From which, with fiery bound, 

A tiger sprung. 

■Wildly the wild one yelled, 

When the lion he beheld ; 

And, bristling at the look, 

With his tail his sides he-strook, 

And rolled his rabid tongue. 

And, with glittering eye. 

Crept round the lion slow and shy 

Then, horribly howling. 

And grimly growling, 

Down by his side himself he laid. 

And the king another signal made • 

The opened grating vomited then 

Two leopards forth from their dreadful den, - 

They rush on the tiger, with signs of rage. 

Eager the deadly fight to wage. 

Who. fierce, with paws uplifted stood. 



132 <rn.E standard speakeii. 

And the lion sprang up with an awful roar. 
Then were still the fearful tour : 
A.nd the monsters on the ground 
Grouched in a circle round, 
Greedy to taste of blood. 

Now, from the balcony above, 
A snowy hand let fall a glove : 
Midway between the beasts of prey, 
Lion and tiger, — there it lay. 
The winsome lady's glove ! 

And the Lady Kunigund, in bantering mood, 
Spoke to Knight Delorges, who by her stood r -• 
" If the flame which but now to me you swore 
Burns as strong as it did before, 
Go pick up my glove, Sir Knight." 
And he, with action quick as sight, ■ 
In the horrible place did stand ; 
And with dauntless mien, 
From the beasts between 
Took up the glove, with fearless hand ; 
And as ladies and nobles the bold deed saw, 
Their breath they held, through fear and awe. 
The glove he brings back, composed and light. 
Ilis praise was announced by voice and look, 
And Kunigund rose to receive the knight 
With a smile that promised the deed to requite ; 
But straight in her face he flung the glove, — 
" 1 neither desire your thanks nor love ;" 
And from that same hour the iady forsook. 



25^ THE FATE OF VIRttlNIA.* 

" Why is the Forum crowded ? " What means this stir in Rome ? ** 

" Claimed as a slave, a free-born maid is dragged here from her home 

On fair Virginia, Claudius has cast his eye of blight ; 

The tyrant's creature, Marcus, asserts an owner's right. 

0, shame on Roman manhood ! Was ever plot more clear ? 

But, look ! the maiden's father comes ! Behold Virginius here ! " 

Straightway Virginius led the maid a little space aside. 
To where the reeking shambles stood, piled up with horn and hide 
Hard by a b*utcher on a block had laid his whittle down, — 
Virginius caught the whittle up, and hid it m his gown. 

• In order to render the commencement less abrupt, six lines of introduction Lari 
been added to this extract from the fine ballad by Macaulay. 



NAKT.A'nVE AND LYRICAL. — MACAULAT. 433 

And then his eyes grew very dim, and his throai began to Bwell, 
And Id a hoarse, changed voice, he spake, " Farewell, sweet child 

Farewell ! 
The house that was the happiest within the Roman walls, — 
The house that envied not the wealth of (Capua's marble halls. - 
Now, for the brightness of thy smile, must have eternal gloom, 
And, for the music of thy voice, the silence of the toml 
The time is come. The tyrant points his eager hand this way! 
See how his eyes gloat on thy grief, like a kite's upon the prey ! 
With all his wit, he little deems, that, spurned, betrayed, berets. 
Thy father hath, in his despair, one fearful refuge left ; 
He little deems, that, in this hand, I clutch what still can save 
Thy gentle youth from taunts and blows, the portion of the slave ; • 
Yea, and from nameless evil, that passeth taunt and blow, — 
Foul outrage, which thou knowest not, — which thou shalt never 

know. 
Then clasp me round the neck once more, and give me one moie kIss , 
And now, mine own dear little girl, there is no way but this! " 
With that, he lifted high the steel, and smote her in the side, 
And in her blood she sank to earth, and with one sob she died. 

Then, for a little moment, all people held their breath ; 

And through the crowded Forum was >:tlllness as of death; 

And in another moment brake forth from one and all 

A cry as if the Volscians were coming o'er the wall ; 

Till, with white lips and bloodshot eyes, Virginius tottered nigh, 

And stood before the judgment seat, and held the knife on high. 

" 0, dwellers in the nether gloom, avengers of the slain, 

By this dear blood I cry to you, do right between us twain ; 

And e'en as Appius Claudius hath dealt by me and mine, 

Deal you by Appius Claudius and all the Claudian line ! " 

So spake the slayer of his child ; then, where the body lay, 

Pausing, he cast one haggard glance, and turned and went his way. 

Then up sprang Appius Claudius : " Stop him, alive or dead ' 

Ten thousand pounds of copper to the man who brings his head ! " 

He looked upon his clients, — but none would work his will ; 

He looked upon his lictors, — but they trembled and stood still. 

And as Virginius through the press his way in silence clftft, 

Ever the mighty multitude fell back to right and left. 

A cd ho hath passed in safety unto his wotul home, 

An! there ta'en horse to tell the camp what deeds are done in Rcaii^. 



26. HORATIUS AT THE BRlX>{iE. — Adapted from Macaulay. 

Tub Consul's brow was sad, and the Consul's speech was loir. 
And darkly looked he at the wall, and darkly at the foe. 
' Their van will be upon us before the bridge goes down ; 
And if they once may win the bridge, what h^pe to save the town?' 
28 



4S4 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

Then out spoke brave Horatius, the Captain of the gate : 
' To every man upon this earth death cometh, soon or late. 
Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, with all the speed ye may ; 
I, with two more to help me, will hold the foe in play. 

In yon strait path a thougand may well be stopped by three. 
Now who will stand on either hand, and keep the brjdge with me ? " 
Then out spake Spurius Lartius, — a Ramnian proud was he, — 
" Lo, I will stand at thy right hand, and keep the bridge with thee.' 

And out spake strong Herminius, — of Titian blood was he, — 
" I will abide on thy left side, and keep the bridge with thee." 
" Horatius," quoth the Consul, " as thou sayest, so let it be." 
And straight against that great array, forth went the dauntless Three 

Soon all Etruria's noblest felt their hearts sink. to see 
On the earth the bloody corpses, in the path the dauntless Three. 
And from the ghastly entrance, where those bold Romans stood, 
The bravest shrank like boys who rouse an old bear in the wood. 

Bat meanwhile axe and lever have manfully been plied, 
And now the bridge hangs tottering above the boiling tide. 
" Come back, come back, Horatius ! " loud cried the Fathers all : 
" Back, Lartius ! back, Herminius ! back, ere the ruin fall ! " 

Back darted Spurius Lartius ; Herminius darted back ; 

And, as they passed, beneath their feet they felt the timbers crack 

But when they turned their feces, and on the further shore 

Saw brave Horatius stand alone, they would have crossed once mora 

But, with a crash like thunder, fell every loosened beam, 
And, like a dam, the mighty wreck lay right athwart the stream 
And a long shout of triumph rose from the walls of Rome, 
As to the highest turret-tops was splashed the yellow foam. 

And, like a horse unbroken when first he feels the rein, 

The furious river struggled hard, and tossed his tawny mane, 

And burst the curb, and bounded, rejoicing to be free, 

And battlement, and plank, and pier, whirled headlong to the sea. 

Alone stood brave Horatius, but constant still in mind ; 
Tlirice thirty thousand foes before, and the broad flood behind, 
" Down witl\ him ! " cried false Sextus, with a smile on his pale face 
•* Now yield thee," cried Lars Porsena " now yield thee to our grace 

Round turned he, as not deigning those craven ranks to see ; 
Naught spake he to Lars Porsena, to Sextus naught spake be \ 
But he saw on Palatlnus the white porch of his home, 
And he spake to the noble river that rolls by the towers of Rom<« 



NAKRATIVE AND LYRICAL. — ATTOUN.» 43^ 

Tiber ! father fiber ! to whom the Romans pray, 
^Koman s life a Roman's arms, take thou in charge this day ! * 
3o he Bpake and, speaking, sheathed the good sword by his side. 
A.ad, with his harness on his back, plunged headlong in the tide'. 

N"o sound of joy or sorrow was heard from either bank ; 

An 1 l\ ilT ^T' "' ^""^"^ '^^■P"^^' ^^«°d gazing where he sank • 

And when atove the surges they saw his crest tippear, 

Rome shouted, and e'en Tuscany could scarce foi-bear to cheer. 

And fT/^ K? '}" 'T"-' '^°"^" ^'S^ ^y ™«"ths of rain : 
And fast his blood was flowing ; and he was sore in pain. 

And nft I? '"i \^'r'^ ^"^'^^ «Pent with changing blows : 
And oft they thought him sinking, - but still a|ain he rose. 

Never, I ween, did swimmer, in such an evil case, 

But'E bl!'r^^ T^ ' ''°^".° ^"°'^ ''^' '' ^^'^ landing-place : 
But his limbs were borne up bravely by the braveTeart witliin 
And our good father Tiber bare bravely up his chin. 

But'for thi^"T •' " '*"°'I^ ^'^''. ?^*^^ ' " ^"^ "«t the villain drown ? 
' HeS^n I. 'l'''T>?- ' "['^7 ""' ^h^'^^^^ ^■'^' ^^^^ked the town ! " 
shore; "^ ^°''^""' "^^d bring him safe to 

For such a gallant feat of arms was never seen before." 

And now he feels the bottom ; - now on dry earth he stands • 
Now round him throng the Fathers to press Bs gory hands ' 

He enTers tC I^T p' ^"^^^^ ^"^ "^^^ «'--F"S ^-^> 
He enters through the River Gate, borne by the joyous crowd. 

27. THE EXECUTION OF MOxXTROSE, 1645. - J.toun. 

There is no ingredient of fictioa in the hi'^tnrir-il ii,ri.h.,,f- ,■ i : • ., . 
The perfect serenity "f Montrns,- tl,^ ^U--n''t'\i. • .• - "-'""l"'' m the fnlloirin!,' ballad. 

tol death, _ tlie cnuri^e ar„I magnanimity wieh'he'di'nlv TT h'"V''/" '\"' ^"'"'' "^ '"*' 
l^n, .,th .Unirati„n, h, writers of eye,^ class. The Iwayil^^'Us ^^n ^il.j;;.^'^^::!'^ 

Come hither, Evan Cameron; come, stand beside my' knee _ 
t hear the river roaring down towaiTls the wintry sea. 

Old'f .cpflnof'"^ '" '^'" n.ountai,i-..iae, there 's war within the blast ; 

d faces look upon nie, - old forms go trooping past. 

i hear the pibroch wailing amidst the din of fio-hl 

And my dim spirit wakes again, upon the verg'e of night. 

Twas I that led the Highland host through wild LoclaLx^r's snow. 

PvellT:, V'^"'^^"' ' '"V^"*" '^''''' *° battle with Montrose ' 
[ ve told thee how the Soudirons fell beneath the broad claymoi^ 

V.t fold r T' ''" ^''"i^''^'" ^''^'" ''.y Inverlochy's shorT ' 
Hni^f u' 7 T? ?''■" ^'^'"^^'' ""'^' t^""*-^^^ *^be Lindsays' pride ' 
Hut never have I told thee yet how the Great Marquis died ^ 



4-3G » THE STANDARD SPEAKEK. 

A traitor r.old him to his foes ; — 0, deed of deathless shame . 

I chai'ge thee, boy, if e'er thou meet with one of Assynt's name, 

Be it upon the mountain's side, or yet within the glen. 

Stand he in martial gear alone, or backed by armed men, — 

Face him, as thou wouldst face the man who wronged thy ^sure'a 

renown ; 
Kcmember of what blood thou art, and strike the caitiff down . 

They brought him to the Watergate, hard bound with hempen span 

As though they held a lion there, and not a 'fenceless man. 

But when he came, though pale and wan, he looked so great and high 

So noble was his manly front, so calm his steadfast eye. 

The rablile rout forbore to shout, and each man held his breath : 

For well they knew the hero's soul was face to face with death. 

Had I been there, with sword in hand, and fifty Camerons by, 
That day, through high Dunedin's streets, had pealed the slogan-crj. 
Not all their troops of trampling horse, nor might of mailed men, 
Not all the rebels in the South, had borne us backwards then ! 
Once more his foot on Highland heath had trod as free as air, 
Or I, and all who bore my name, been laid around him there ! 

It might not be. They placed him nest within the solemn hall. 
Where once the Scottish kings were throned amidst their nobles all. 
But there was dust of vulgar feet on that polluted floor, 
And perjured traitors filled the place where good men sate before. 
With savage glee came Warriston, to read the murderous doom ; 
And then uprose the great Montrose in the middle of the room. 

" Now, by my faith as belted knight, and by the name I bear, 
And by the bright Saint Andrew's cross that waves above us there, — 
Yea, by a greater, mightier oath, — and 0, that such should be ! — 
By that dark stream of royal blood that lies 'twixt you and me, — 
I have not sought in battle-field a wreath of such renown. 
Nor hoped I on my dying day to win the martyr's crown ! 

" There is a chamber far away where sleep the good and brave. 
But a better place ye 've named for me than by my fathers' grave. 
For truth and right, 'gainst treason's might, this hand hath alway? 

striven. 
And ye raise it up for a witness still in the eye of earth and Heaven 
Then nail my head on yonder tower, — give every town a limb, — 
And God who made shall gather them : I go from you to Him ! " 

The morning dawned full darkly • like a bridegroom from his room, 
Came the hero from his prison to the scaffold and the doom. 
There was glory on his forehead, there was lustre in his eye 
And he never walked to battle more proudly than to die ; 
Tliere was color in his visage, though the cheeks of all were wan, 
AJid they marvelled as they saw him pass, that great and goodly mas 



NiRRATIVE AND LYKICAL. — SUELLET, 437 

riien radiant and serene he stood, and cast his cloak awaj 

For he had ta'en his latest look of earth and sun and day. 

He mounted up the scaffold, and he turned him to the crowd 

But thej daretl not trust the people, — so he might not speak aloud 

But he looked upon the Heavens, and they were clear and blue, 

And in the liquid ether the eye of God shone through : 

A beam of light fell o'er him, like a glory round the shriven, 
And he chmbud the lofty ladder as it were the path to Heaven. 
Then came a flash from out the cloud, and a stunning thunder-roll , 
And no man dared to look aloft ; tear was on every soul. 
There was another heavy sound, — a hush, and then a groan, 
And darkness swept across the sky, — the work of death was done 

28. PEACE AND WAR. -Percy Bys.he Shelley. Born, 1T92 ; died, 1822. 

How beautiful this night ! the balmiest sigh 
Which vernal zephyrs breathe in evening's ear 
Were discord to the speaking quietude 
That wraps this moveless scene. Heaven's ebon vault 
.Studded with stars unutterably bright, 
Through which the moon's unclouded grandeur rolls, 
Seems like a canopy which love has spread 
Above the sleeping world. Yon gentle hills, 
Eobed in a garment of untrodden snow ; 
Yon darksome rocks, whence icicles depend, 
So stainless that their white and glitterinir spires 
Tinge not the moon's pure beam ; yon castled steep, 
Whose banner hangeth o'er the time-worn tower 
So idly that rapt fancy deemeth it 
A metaphor of peace ; — all form a scene 
y^ here musing solitude might love to lift 
Her soul above this sphere of earthliness ; 
Where silence undisturbed might watch alone, 
So cold, so bright, so still ; 

Ah ! whence yon glare 
That fires the arch of Heaven ? — that dark red smoke 
Llottmg the sdvcr moon ? The stars are quenched 
In darkness, and the pure and spangling snow 
Gleams faintly through the gloom tliat fathers round 
Hark to that roar, whose swilt and deafening pcala 
In countless_ echoes through the mountains ring, 
Startling pale midnight on her starry throne ! 
Now swells the intermingling din ; the jar, 
Frequent and frightful, of the bursting "bomb ; 
The falling beam, the shriek, the groan, the shout. 
The eeaselcsp ckng^^r, and the rush of men 



438 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

Inebriate with rage ! — Loud and more loud 
The discord grows ; till pale Death shuts the scene 
And o'er the conqueror and the conquered draws 
His 001*1 and bloody shroud I 

The sulphurous smoke 
Before the icy wind slow rolls away, 
And the bright beams of frosty morning dance 
Along the spangling snow. There tracks of blood, 
Even to the forest's depth, and scattered arms, 
And lifeless warriors, whose hard lineaments 
Death's self could change not, mark the dreadful pa 
Of the out-sallying victors : far behind 
Black ashes note where their proud city stood. 
Within yon forest is a gloomy glen ; — 
Each tree which guards its darkness from the day 
Waves o'er a warrior's tomb ! 



£9 AMERICA TO GREAT BRITAIN. — /rosAwir^ow ^//s<on. Born, 1779 ;it«i, IMS 

All hail ! thou noble land. 
Our fathers' native soil I 
0, stretch thy mighty hand, 
Gigantic grown by toil. 
O'er the vast Atlantic wav.e to our shore 
For thou, with magic might. 
Canst reach to where the light 
Of Phojbus travels bright, 
The world o'er ! 

The Genius of our clime. 

From his pine-embattled steep, 
Shall hail the great sublime ; 
While the Tritons of the deep 
With their conchs the kindred league shall proclabm. 
Then let the world combine ! — 
O'er the main our naval line, 
Like, the milky waj'-, shall shine 
Bright in fame ! 

Though ages long have passed 

Since our fathers left their home, 
Their pilot in the blast, 

O'er untravelled seas to roam, — 
¥et lives the blood of England in our veina » 
And shall we not proclaim 
That blood of honest fame. 
Which no tyranny can tame 
By its drains ? 



KA.RKATIVE AXD LYKICAL. — BTRON. 

While the language, free and bold, 
Wliich the bard of Avon sung, 
la which our Milton told 

How the vault of Heaven rung, 
When Satan, blasted, fell with all his host i ~ 
While this, with reverence meet, 
Ten thousand echoes greet, 
From rock to rock repeat 
Round our coast ; — 

While the manners, while the arts. 

That mould a Nation's soul, 
Still cling around our hearts, — 
Between let ocean roll, 
Our joint communion breaking with the sun 
Yet, still, from either beach, 
The voice of blood shall reach, 
More audible than speech, 
" We are One ! " 



30. OLD IRONSIDES.— O/zufir Wendell Holmes. 

Written when it was proposed to break up the frigate Constitution, or to convert her into I 
leceiring ship, as unfit for service. 

Ay, tear h^v tattered ensign down ! Long has it waved on high, 
And many an eye has danced to see that banner in the sky ; — 
Beneath it rang the battle-shout, and burst the cannon's roar ; 
The meteor of the ocean air shall sweep the clouds no more ! 

Her deck, once red with heroes' blood, where knelt the vanquished 

foe, 
Wh.&a. winds were hurrying o'er the flood, and waves were white 

below, 
No more shall feel the victor s tread, or know the conquered knee ; 
The harpies of the shore shall pluck the eagle of the sea ' 

0, better that her shattered hulk should sink beneath the wave ! 
Her thunders shook the mighty deep, and there should be her grave I 
Nail to the mast her holy flag, set every threadbare sail, 
And give her to the god of storms, — the lightning and the gale ! 



THE BALL AT BRUSSELS, TIIE NIGHT BEFORE THE BATTLE OF W&TEB 
LOO, Jdne 17, 1815. Lord Byron. 

There was a sound of revelry by night, 
And Belgium's capital had gathered then 
Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright 
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men . 
A thousand hearts beat happily ; and wheo 



i40 THE STAIN CARD SPEAKER. 

Music arose, with its voluptuous swell, 

Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, 

And rU went merry as a marriage-bell. 
but hush ! hark ! a deep sound strikes like a rising kael 

Did ye not hear it ? — No ; 't was but the wind. 

Or the car rattling o'er the stony street. 

On with the dance ! let joy be unconfined , 

No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet 

To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet I 

But hark ! that heavy sound breaks in once more, 

As if the clouds its echo would repeat ; 

And nearer, clearer, deadlier, than before ! 
Arm ! arm ! it is — it is — the cannon's opening roar ! 

Within a windowed niche of that high hall 
Sat Brunswick's fated chieftain. He did hear 
That sound the first amidst the festival. 
And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear ; 
And when they smiled because he deemed it near, 
His heart more truly knew that peal too well. 
Which stretched his father on a bloody bier, 
And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell. 
3e rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell. 

Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro. 
And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, 
And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago 
Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness ; 
And there were sudden partings, such as press 
The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs 
Which ne'er might be repeated. AVho could guesfi 
If ever more should meet those mutual eyes. 
Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise 

An 1 there was mounting in hot haste : the steed, 
The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, 
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, 
And swiftly forming in the ra,nks of war ; 
And the deep thunder, peal on peal, "-^far; 
And near, the beat of the alarming drum 
Roused up the soldier ere the morning star , 
While thronged the citizens, with terror dumb. 
Or whispering, with white lips — " The foe ' The^ pome Th«> 
come ! " 
Last noon beheld them full of lusty life; 
Last eve, in Beauty's circle, proudly gay ; 
The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife 
The morn, the marshalling in arms ; the day, 
Battle s magnificently stern array ! 



NARRATIVE AND LTRICAL. — BYRON. 441 

Tlie thunder-clouds close o'er it, vsliich "when rent 
The earth is covered thick with other clay, 
Which her own clay shall cover — heaped and pent, 
Rider and horse, — friend, — foe, — iji one red bui'ial blent 



I 



32. THE DYING GhADIATOVL — Lord Byron. 

I -SEE before me the Gladiator lie : 
He leans upon his hand, — his manly brow 
Consents to death but conquers agony. 
And his drooped head sinks gradually low, — 
And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow 
From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, 
Like the first of a thunder-shower ; and now 
The arena swims around him — he is gone. 
Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch who woa 

He heard it, but he heeded not : his eyes 
Were with his heart, and that was far away ; 
He recked not of the life he lost nor prize, 
But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, 
There were his young barbarians all at play, 
Tliere was their Dacian mother, — he, their sire, 
Butchered to make a Roman holiday, — 
AH this rushed with his blood. — Shall he expire, 
And unavenged ? — Arise, ye Goths, and glut your ire 



■ 33. DEGENERACY OF GREECE. — iord Bi/rori 

The Isles of Greece, the Isles of Greece ! 

Where burning Sappho loved and sung, 
Where grew the arts of war and peace, — 

Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung ! 
Eternal sununer gilds them yet, 
But all, except their sun, is set. 

The mountains look on Marathon, 
And Marathon looks on the sea ; 

And, musing there an hour alone, 

I dreamed that Greece miglit still be free 

For, standing on the Persian's grave, 

I could not deem myself a slave. 

A King sat on the rocky brow 

Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis , 

And ships, by thousands, lay below, 
And men and Nations — all were nis . 

He counted them at break of day, — 

And when th? sun set. where were they I 



442 TI/E STANDARD SPEAKER 

And where are they ? and where art thou. 

My country ? On thy voiceless shore 
The heroic lay is tuneless now — 

The heroic bosom beats no more ' 
And must thy lyre, so long divine, 
Degenerate into hands like mine ? 

You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet ; 

Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone ? 
Of two such lessons, why forget 

The nobler and the manlier one ? 
You have the letters Cadmus gave — 
Think ye he meant them for aslave ? 
'T is something, in the dearth of fame, 

Though linked among a fettered race, 
To feel, at least, a patriot's shame. 

Even as I sing, suffuse my face ; 
For \vhat is left the poet here ? 
For Greeks, a blush, — for Greece, a tear ! 

Must we but weep o'er days more blest ? 

Must we but blush ? — Our fathers bled 
Earth I render back from out thy breast 

A rem rant of our Spartan dead ! 
Of the throe hundred grant but three, 
To make a new Thermopylae ! 

What ! silent still ? and silent all ? 

Ah ! no : — the voices of the dead 
SDund like a distant torrent's fall, 

And answer, " Let one living head, 
But one arise, — we come, we come ! " 
'T is but the living who are dumb. 



34. THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB. —iord Byran 

The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold. 
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold ; 
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, 
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. 

Like the leaves of the forest when Sunmier is green, 
That host, with their banners, at sunset were seen ; 
Like the leaves of the forest when Autunui hath blown, 
That host, on the morrow, lay withered and strewn. 

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, 
A.nd breathed in the hice of the foe as he passed ; 
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, 
And their hearts but once heaved, and forever grew still t 



NAKKATIVE AND LYRICAL. Li-QNS. 443 

Ajid there lay the steed with his iiostriJ? all wide, 
But through them there rolled not the broiith of his pride 
And the loam of his gasping lay white on the turf, 
And cold jis the spray of the rock-beating surf. 

And there lay the rider distorted and pale, 
With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail , 
And the teats were all sUent, the banners alone, 
The lances unlifted, the trumpets unblown. 

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, 
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal ; 
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, 
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord J 



36. THE TEMPEST STILLED. —Beu. J. GzVfcome Lyon« 

The strong winds burst on Judah's sea, 

Far pealed the raging billow, 
The fires of Heaven flashed wrathfully, 

When Jesus pressed his pillow ; 
The light frail bark was fiercely tossed, 

From surge to dark surge leaping, 
For sails were torn and oars were lost. 

Yet Jesus still lay sleeping. 

When o'er that bark the loud waves roared, 

And blasts went howling round her, 
Those Hebrews roused their wearied Lord.— 

" Lord I help us, or we founder I " 
He said, "Ye waters, Peace, be still ! "' 

The chafed waves sank reposing. 
As wild herds rest on field and hill, 

When clear calm days are closing. 

And turning to the startled men. 

Who watched the surge subsiding, 
He spake in mournfiil accents, then, 

These words of righteous chiding: 
" ye, who thus fear wreck and death, 

As if by Heaven forsaken. 
How is it that ye have no faith. 

Or faith so quickly shaken ? " 

Then, then, those doubters saw with dread 

The wondrous saene before them ; 
Their limbs waxed faint, their boldness fled, 

Strange awe stole creeping o'er them . — ' 
" This, this," they said, " is Judah's Lord, 

For powers divine array him ; 
BehoM ! He does but speak the word 

\Dd winds 'ind waves obey him ! " 



i44 THE STANDARD SPEAKBR, 

86. -EXCELSIOR.— H. ir. Longfelloio. 

The shades of night were falling fast, 
As through an Alpine village passed 
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and loe 
A banner with the strange device, 
Excelsior ! 

His brow was sad ; his eye beneath 
Flashed like a falchion from its sheath 
And like a silver clarion rung 
The accents of that unknown tongue, 
Excelsior ' 

In happy homes he saw the light 
Of household fires gleam warm and brigh 
Above, the spectral glaciers shone ; 
And from his lips escaped a groan. 
Excelsior ! 

" Try not the Pass ! " the old man said 
" Dark lowers the tempest overhead ; 
The roaring torrent is deep and wide 1 ' 
And loud that clarion voice replied, 
Excelsior ! 

0, stay," the maiden said " and rest 
Thy weary head upon this breast ! " 
A tear stood in his bright blue eye ; 
But s!™ he answered, with a sigh, 
Excelsior ! 

" Beware the pine-tree's withered branch i 
Beware the awful avalanche ! " 
This was the peasant's last Good-night' 
A voice replied, far up the height, 
Excelsior ! 

At break of day, as heavenward 
The pious monks of Saint Bernard 
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, 
A voice cried, through the startled air 
Excelsior ' 

A traveller, by the faithful hound. 
Half-buried in the snow was found 
Still grasping, in his hand of ice, 
That banner with the strange device, 
Excelsior i 

There, in the twilight cold and gray, 
lafeless, but beautiful, he lay ; 



NARRATIVE AND LYRICAL. CAMPBELU 44.' 

And from the sky, serene and far, 
A voice fell, like a falling star, 
Excelsior ! 



87. TO THE RAINROW. — Thomas Campbell 

Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky 
When storms prepare to part, 

I ask not proud philosophy 

To teach me what thou art : — 

Still seem, as to my childliood's sight, 

A midway station given, 
For happy spirits to alight, 

Betwixt the earth and Heaven. 

Can all that optics teach unfold 

Thy form to please me so, 
As when I dreamt of gems and gold 

Hid in thy radiant bow ? 

When Science from Creation's face 
Enchantment's veil withdraws, 

What lovely visions yield their place 
To cold material laws ! 

And yet, fair bow, no fabling dreams, 
But words of the Most High, 

Save told why first thy robe of beama 
Was woven in the sky. 

(Vlien, o'er the gi-een, undeluged earth. 
Heaven's covenant thou didst shine, 

How came the world's gray fathers foitil 
To watch thy sacred sign ! 

And when its yellow lustre smiled 
O'er mountains yet unti'od, . 

Each mother held aloft her child 
To bless the bow of God, 

Methinks, thy jubilee to keep, 

The first-made anthem rang 
Oe earth delivered from the deep. 

And the first poet sang , 

Nor ever shall the Muse's eye 
Unraptured greet thy beam , 

Theme of primeval prophecy^ 
Be still the poet's theme ! 



ii^ XHE STANI/ARD SPEAICEB. 

The earth to thee her incense yields, 
The lark thy welcome sings, 

When, glittering in the freshened fields 
The snowy mushroom springs. 

How glorious is thy girdle cast 
O'er mountain, tower, and town 

Or mirrored in the ocean vast. 
A thousand fathoms down ! 

As fresh in yon horizon dark. 

As young, thy beauties seem, 
As when the eagle from the ark 
. First sported in thy beam. 

For, faithful to its sacred page. 
Heaven still rebuilds thy span 

Nor lets the type grow pale with age 
That first spoke peace to man. 



38. OLE^AK/i.. — Thomas Campbell. 

! HKAKD you yon pibroch sound sad in the gale, 
Where a band cometh slowly, with weeping and wall ? 
'T is the chief of Glenara laments for his dear ; 
And her sire and her people are called to her bier. 

Grlenara came first, with the mourners and shroud , 
Her kinsmen they followed, but mourned not aloud ; 
Their plaids all their bosoms were folded around ; 
They marched all in silence, — they looked to the ground 

In silence they passed over mountain and moor, 
To a heath where the oak-tree grew lonely and hoar : 
" Now here let us place the gray -stone of her cairn ; — 
Why speak ye no word ?" said Glenara the stern. 

" And tell me, I charge you, ye clan of my spouse, 
Why fold ye your mantles, why cloud ye your brows ? '' 
So spake the rude chieftain : no answer is made, 
But each mantle, unfolding, a dagger displayed. 

" I dreamed of my lady, I dreamed of her shroud," 
Cried a voice from the kinsmen, all wrathful and loud : 
" And empty that shroud and that coffin did seem : 
Glenara I Glenara ! now read me my dream ! " 

O ! pale grew the cheek of that chieftain, I ween. 
When the shroud was unclosed, and no body was seen 
Then a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in scorn - 
T waa the youth that had loved the fair Ellen of Loru 



NARRATIVE AND LYIUCAL. — EIIEA. i*' 

■• I drcaned of m^ lady, T dreamed of her grief. 
I dreauiee that her lord was a barbarous chief; 
On the rock of the ocean lair Ellen did seem ; 
Glenara! Glenara! now read uie my dream I " 

In dust low the traitor has knelt to the ground, 
And the desert revealed where his lady wtus found : 
From a rock of the ocean that beauty is borne ' 
Now joy to the House of fair Ellen of Lorn ' 



39. THE O'KAVANAGII. —J. A. Shea. 

The Saxons had met, and the banquet was spread, 
And the wine in fleet circles the jubilee led ; 
And the banners that hung round the festal that night 
Seemed brighter by far than when lifted in fight. 

In came the O'Kavanagh, fair as the morn, 

WTien earth to new beauty and vigor is born ; 

They shrank from his glance like the waves from the prow, 

For nature's nobility sat on his brow. 

Attended alone by his vassal and bard, — 
No trumpet to herald, no clansmen to guard, — 
He came not attended by steed or by steel : 
No danger he knew, for no fear did he feel. 

In eye, and on lip, his high confidence smiled. — 
So proud, yet so knightly — so gallant, yet mild ; 
He moved like a god through the light of that hall, 
And a smile, full of courtliness, proffered to all. 

" Come pledge us, lord chieftain ! come pledge us ! " they cried 

Unsuspectingly free to the pledge he replied ; 

And this was the peace-branch O'Kavanagh bore, — 

" The friendships to come, not the feuds that are o'er ! 

But, minstrel, why cometh a change o'er thy theme ? 
Why sing of red battle — what dream dost thoiL dream ? 
Ha ! " Treason ! " 's the cry, and " Revenge ! " is the call. 
As the swords of the Saxons surrounded the hall ' 

A kingdom for Angelo's mind, to portray 

Green Erin's undaunted avenger that day ; 

The far-fiashing sword, and the death-darting eye. 

Like some comet commissioned with wrath from the akj 

Through the ranks of the Saxon he hewed his red way, - 
Through lances, and sabres, and hostile array • 
And, mounting his charger, he left them to tell 
rii^ tale of that feast, and its blood v farewell 



148 THE Sl^ANDAKD SPEAKliR. 

And now on the Saxons his clansmen advance, 
With a shout from each heart, and a soul in eaca lanofc 
He rushed, like a storm, o'er the night-covered heath. 
And swept through their ranks like the angel of deatii 

Then hurrah ! tor thy glory, young chieftain, hurrah S 
' had v,'e such lightning-souled heroes tO-day, 
Again would our " sunburst " expand in the gak 
And Freedom exult o'er the green Innisfail 5 



40. ODE ON THE PASSIONS — IViUiam Collint 

When jMusic, Heavenly maid, was young, 
While yet in early Greece she sung, 
The Passions oft, to hear her shell. 
Thronged around her magic cell ; 
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, 
Possessed beyond the Muse's painting, 
By turns, they felt the glowing mind 
Disturbed, delighted, raised, refined : 
Till once, 't is said, when all were fired, 
Filled with fury, rapt, inspired. 
From the supporting myrtles round 
They snatched her instruments of sound i 
And, as they oft had heard apart 
Sweet lessons of her forceful art. 
Each — for Madness ruled the hour — 
Would prove his own expressive power. 

First, Fear his hand, its skUI to try. 
Amid the chords bewildered laid ; 

And back recoiled, he knew not why. 
Even at the sound himself had made. 

Next, Anger rushed, his eyes on fire, 

In lightnings owned his secret 
In one rude clash he struck the lyre, 

And swept, with hurried hands, the strmge. 

With woful measures, wan Despair — 
Low sullen sounds ! — his grief beguiled 

A solemn, strange, and mingled air; 

'T was sad, by fits, — by start's, i was Yrild 

But thou, Hope ! with eyes so fair, 
What was thy delighted measure ? 
Still it whispered promised pleasure, 
And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail ! 
Still would her touch the strain prolong; 
And. from the rocks, the woods, the vale. 



N'ARKATTVE AND L-JKTfAL. — CuLLINS. 449 

She called on Echo still through all her song ; 
And, where her sweetest theme she chose, 
A soft responsive voice was heard at every close ; 
And Hope, enchanted, smiled, and waved her golden hair. 

And longer had she sung — but, with a frown, 

Revenge impatient rose. 
He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down ; 

And, with a withering look. 

The war-denouncing trumpet took, 
.^d Mew a blast, so loud and dread. 
Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe ; 

And, ever and anon, he beat 

The doubling drum with furious heat. 
Aid though, sometin)es, each dreary pause between. 

Dejected Pity, at. his side. 

Her soul-subduing voice applied. 
Yet still he kept his wild unaltered mien ; 
While each strained ball of sight seemed bursting from his basd 

Thy numbers. Jealousy, to naught were fixed; 

Sad proof of thy distressful state ! 
Of differing themes the veering song was mixed : 

And now it courted Love — now, raving, called on Hate. 

With eyes upraised, as one inspired. 

Pale Melancholy sat retired ; 

And, from her wild sequestered seat. 

In notes, by distance made more sweet, 
Poured through the mellow horn her pensive soul : 
And, dashing soft, from rocks around. 
Bubbling ruanels joined the sound ; 
Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole : 
Or o'er some haunted streatns, with fond delay — 

Round a holy calm diffusing, 

Love of peace and lonely musing — 
In hollow murmurs died away. 

But, ! how altered was its sprightly tone, 
When Cheerfulness, a nymph oi' healthiest hue, 

Her bow across her shoulder flung, 
Her buskins gemmed with morning dew 

Blew an inspiri'.ig air, that dale and tnickct rung. 
The iiunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known ! 

The oak-crowned sisters, and their chaste-eyed u'lOftt 
Satyrs, and sylvan boys, were seen, 
Peeping from forth their alleys green ; 
Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear ; 
.\nd Sport leaped up, and seized his beechen anv^' 
. 29 



tbC ma IWANDARD SPEAKER. 

Jjast came Joy's ecstatic trial : 
He, with viny crown, advancing. 
First to the lively pipe his hand addressed ; 

But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol. 
Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best. 
Thej A-ould have thought, who heard the strain 
They saw, in Tempe's vale, her native maid^ 

Amid the festal sounding shades, 
To some unwearied minstrel dancing ; 
While, as his flying fingers kissed the strings, 
Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round — 
Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound ; 
And he, amid his frolic play. 
As if he would the charming air repay, 
Shook thousand odors from his dewy wings. 



41. THE GREEK AND TURKMAN. — ficu. George Cro/y. 

of a night attack, by Constantine PaUeologus, on a detached camii 
med II., during the siege of Constantinople. 

The Turkman lay beside the river ; 

The wind played loose through bow and quiver , 

The charger on the bank fed free. 

The shield hung glittering from the tree, 

The trumpet, shawn, and atabal. 

Lay screened from dew by cloak and pall, 

For long and weary was the way 

The hordes had marched that burning day. 

Above them, on the sky of June, 
Broad as a buckler glowed the mooU; 
Flooding with glory vale and hill. 
In silver sprang the mountain rill ; 
The weeping shrub in silver bent ; 
A pile of silver stood the tent ; 
All soundless, sweet tranquillity ; 
All beauty, — hill, brook, tent, and tree. 

There came a sound — 't was like the gush 
When night-winds shake the rose's bufih ! 
There came a sound — 't was like the tread 
Of wolves along the valley's bed ! 
There came a sound — 't was like the flow 
Of rivers swoln with melting snow ! 
There came a sound — 't was like the roar 
Of Ocean on its winter shore ! 

" Death to the Turk ! " up rose the yell — ■ 
■ On rolled the charge — a thunder peal 



NARIIAIIVE AND LYRICAL KNOX. 151 

The Tartar arrows fell like rain, — 

They clanked on helm, and mail, and chain : 

In blood, in hate, in death, were twined 

Savage and Greek, — mad, — bleeding, — blind •- 

And still, on flank, and front, and rear, 

Eaged, Constantino, thy thirsting spear! 

Brassy and pale, — a type of doom, — 
Labored the moon through deepening gloom. 
Down plunged her orb — 't was pitchy night ' 
Now, Turkman, turn thy reins for flight ! 
On rushed their thousands in the dark ! 
But in their camp a ruddy spark 
Like an uncertain meteor reeled, — 
Thy hand, brave king, that fire-brand wheeled ! 

WUd burst the burning element 
O'er man and courser, flood and tent ! 
And through the blaze the Greeks outsprang, 
Like tigers, — bloody, foot and fang ! — ^ 
With dagger-stab, and falchion-sweep, 
Delving the stunned and staggering heap, 
Till lay the slave by chief anci khan, 
And all was gone that once was man ! 

There 's wailing on the Eusine shore — 
Her chivalry shall ride no more ! 
There 's wailing on thy hills, Altai, 
For chiefs the Grecian vulture's prey ! 
But, Bosphorus, thy silver wave 
Hears shouts for the returning brave ; 
For, kingliest of a kingly line, 
Lo ! there comes glorious Constantino ! 



42. THE CURSE OF C AW. — Knox. 

0, THE wrath of the Lord is a terrible thing ! — 
Like the tempest that withers the blossoms of spring. 
Like the thunder that bursts on the summer's domain, 
It fell on the head of the homicide Cain. 

And, lo ! like a deer in the fright of the chase, 
With a fire in his heart, and a brand on his face. 
He speeds him afar to the desert of Nod, — 
A vagabond, smote by the vengeance of God ! 

All nature, to him, has beec blasted and banned, 
And the blood of a brother yet reeks on his hand ; 
And no vintage has grown, and no fountain has sprung 
For cheering his heart, or for cooling his tongue. 



452 THE S-IANDARD SPEAKEB, 

The groans of a father his slumber shall start, 
And the tears of a mother shall pierce to his heart, 
And the kiss of his children shall scorch him like 
When he thinks of the curse that hangs over his name. 
And the wife of his bosom — the faithful and fair — 
Can mis no sweet drop in his cup of despair ; 
For her tender caress, and her innocent breath, 
But stir in his soul the hot embers of death. 

And his offering may blaze unregarded by Heaven • 
And his spirit may pray, yet remain unforgiven ; 
And his grave may be closed, yet no rest to him bring ; 
0, the wrath of the Lord is a terrible thmg ! 



AMERICA, nSO. -Bishop Berkeleij. Born, 1684 ; rfjed, 1763, 

The Muse, disgusted at an age and clime 

Barren of every glorious theme. 
In distant lands now waits a better time, 

Producing subjects worthy fame. 

In happy climes, where from the genial sun, 

And virgin earth, such scenes ensue. 
The force of art by nature seems outdone. 

And fancied beauties by the true : 
In happy climes, the seat of innocence, 

Where Nature guides, and Virtue rules, — 
Where men shall not impose, for truth and sena 

The pedantry of courts and schools : 

There shall be sung another golden age, 

The rise of empire and of arts, 
The good and great inspiring epic rage, 

The wisest heads and noblest hearts. 

Not such as Europe breeds in her decay, — 
Such as she bred when fresh and young, 

When heavenly flame did animate her clay, — 
By future poets shall be sung. 

Westward the course of empire takes its way 

The four first acts already past, 
A fifth shall close the drama with the day; 

Time's noblest offspring is the last. 



44 IHE world for sale. Rev. Ralph Hoyt. 

T^E world for sale ! Hang out the sigD 
Call every traveller here to me ; 

Who '11 buy this brave estate of mine. 
And set this weary spirit free * 



NARhATIVE AND LVIIICAL. — HOTT. 

T is going ! yes, I mean to fling 

The bauble from my soul away 
I '11 sell it, -whatsoe'er it bring : 

The world at auction here, to-day ' 

It is a glorious sight to see, — 

But, ah ! it has dec:eived me sore 
^* is not what it seems to be. 

For sale ! it shall be mine no more. 
Come, turn it o'er and view it well ; 

I would not have you purchase dear. 
'T is going ! going ! I nmst sell ! 

Who bids ? who '11 buy the splendid tear * 

Here 's wealth, in glittering heaps of gold ; 

"VVTio bids ? But let me tell you fair, 
A baser lot was never sold ! 

Who '11 buy the heavy heaps of care ' 
And, here, spread out in broad domam, 

A goodly landscape all may trace, 
Hall, cottage, tree, field, hill and plain ; — • 

Who '11 buy himself a burial place ? 

Here 's Love, the dreamy potent spell 

That Beauty flings around the heart ; 
I know its power, alas ! too well ; 

'T is going ! Love and I must part ! 
Must part ? What can I more with Love '' 

All over 's the enchanter's reign. 
Who '11 buy the plumeless, dying dove, — 

A breath of bliss, a storm of pain ? 

Aad, Friendship, rarest gem of earth; 

Who e'er hath found the jewel his ? 
Frail, fickle, false and little worth. 

Who bids for Friendship — as it is ? 
Tis going I going ! hear the call ; 

Once, twice and thrice, 't is very low ' 
T was once my hope, my stay, my all, 

But now the broken stafi" must go ! 

Fame ! hold the brilliant meteor high , 

How dazzling every gilded name ' 
Ye millions ! now 's the time to buy. 

How much for Fame ? how much for i-iimne? 
Hear how it thunders ! Would you stand 

On high Olympus, far renowned. 
Now purchuse, and a world command . — 

And be with a world's curses crowned 

Sweet star of Hope ! with ray to sKine 
In e^^ry sad foreboding breast 



459 



45* THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

^e this desponding one of mine, — 

Wlio bids tor man's last friend, and bes* ? 

Ah, were not mine a bankrupt life, 
This treasure should my soul sustain' 
^ But Hope and Care are now at strife, 

Nor ever may unite again. 

Ambition, fashion, show and pride, 

I part from all foreA^er novv' ; 
Grief, in an overwhelming tide, 

Has taught my haughty heart to bow. 
By Death, stern sheriff! all bereft, 

I weep7*yet humbly kiss the rod ; 
The best of all I still have left, — 

My Faith, my Bible, and my God ! 



ON THE DEATH OF GENERAL TAYLOR. —Rohert F. Cewaa 

Weep not for him ! The Thi-acians wisely gave 
Tears to the birth-coach, triumph to the grave. 
Weep not for him ! Go, mark his high career ; 
It knew no shame, no folly, and no fear. 
Nurtured to peril, lo ! the peril came, •^ 
To lead him on, from field to field, to fame. 
Weep not for him whose lustrous life 15Sie known 
No field of fame he has not made his own ! 

In many a fainting clime, in many a war, 
Still bright-browed Victory drew the patriot^ car. 
Whether he met the dusk and prowling foe ^ 
By oceanic Mississippi's flow ; 

Or where the Southern swamps, with steamy br^sath,. 
Smite the worn warrior with no warrior's death ! 
Or where, like surges on the rolling main. 
Squadron on squadron sweep the prairie plain, — 
Dawn — and the field the haughty foe o'erspread 
Sunset — and Rio Grande's waves ran red! 
Or where, from rock-ribbed safety, iMonterey 
Frowns death, and dai'es him to the unecjual fray ; 
Till crashing walls and slippery streets bespeak 
How frail the fortress where the heart is weak • 
IIow vainly numbers menace, rocks defy, 
Men sternly knit, and firm to do or die ; — 
Or where on thousands thousands crowding rusk 
(Rome knew not such a day) his ranks to crush, 
The long day paused on Buena Vista's height, 
Above the cloud with flashing volleys bright.. 
Till angry Freedom, hovering o'er the fray 
Swooped down, and made a new Thermopylae ; — 



MAlvAATIVE AND LTRICAL. UHLANB 45£ 

In every scene of peril and of pain, 
Elia were tlit; toils, his country's was the gain. 
From field to field — and all were nobly won— 
He bore, with eagle flight, her standard on; 
New stars rose there — but never star grew dim 
Wtile in Ins patriot gra-sp. ^^'eep not for hira 

His was a spirit simple, grand and pure 
G"cat to conceive, to do, and to endure ; 
Yet tne rough warrior was, in heart, a child, 
flich in love's affluence, merciful and mild. 
His sterner traits, majestic and antique, 
Rivalled the stoic Roman or the Greek ; 
Excelling both, he adds the Christian name, 
And Christian virtues make it more than fame. 

To country, youth, age, love, life — all were given 
In death, she lingered between hira and Heaven ; 
Thus spake the patriot, in his latast sigh, — 
" My duty done — I do not feak to die ! ' 



ML THE passage. — Uhland. Translated by Miss Austen 

Many a year is in its grave 
Since I crossed this restless wave. 
And the evening, fair as ever, 
Shines on ruin, rock and river. 

Then, in this same boat, beside, 
Sat two comrades, old and tried ; 
One with all a father's truth, 
One with all the fire of youth. 

One on earth in science wrought, 
And his grave in silence sought ; 
But the younger, brighter form, 
Passed in battle and in storm. 

So, whene'er I turn mine eye 

Back upon the days gone by. 

Saddening thoughts of friends come o er mo, 

Friends who closed their course before me. 

Yet what binds us, friend to friend 
But mat soui with soul can blend ? 
Soul-like were those hours of yore — 
Let us walk in soul once more ! 

Take, O boatman, twice thy fee ! — 
Take, — I give it willingly — 
For, invisibly to thee. 
Spirits twain have crossed with ma 



i8d6 XHE STAi-IDARJ) SPiSAKEK 

47. CQVnAQE. — Ba^ry Cornwaa 

Courage ! — Nothing can withstaK"! 
Long a wronged, undaunted land. 
If the hearts within her be 
True unto themselves and thee 
Thou freed giant, Liberty ! 
0, no mountain-nymph art thou 
When the helm is on thy brow, 
And the sword is in thy hand, 
Fighting for thy own good land . 

Courage ! — Nothing e'er withstood 
Freemen fighting for their good , 
Armed with all their father's fame, 
They will win and wear a name. 
That shall go to endless glory, 
Like the Gods of old Greek story, 
Raised to Heas'en and heavenly worth. 
For the good they gave to earth. 

Courage ! — There is none so poor 
(None of all who wrong endure), 
» None so humble, none so weak, 

But may flush his father's cheek, 
And his maiden's dear and true. 
With the deeds that he may do. 
Be his days as dark as night, 
He may make himse'/f a light. 
What though sunken be his sun ? 
There are stars when day is done ; 

Courage ! — Who will be a slave, 
That hath strength to dig a grave, 
And thcein his fetucrs hide. 
And lay a tyrant by his side ? 
Courage ! — Hope, howe'er he fly 
For a time, can never die ! 
Courage, therefore, brother men ' 
Courage ! To ihe hght again ! 

IHK -ttOOR'S nSVENOE. — Original Paraphrase from the Polisli af Mitinevtoi. 

Beitore Grenada's fiited walls, encamped in proud array, 
And flushed with many a victory, the Spanish army lay. 
Of all Grenada's fortresses but one defies their might ; 
On Alphuara's minarets the crescent still is bright. 
Almanzor ! King Almanzor ! all vainly you resist : 
your little hnnd is lading fast away like morning mist, 
A direr foe than ever yet '^.hey met on battle-plain 
Assaults life's inmost citadel, and heaps the ground with elain 



NARRATIVE AND LYKICal. 45'' 

One onset more of Spanish ranks, — and soon it will he made — 
And Alfhurira's towers must reel, and in the dust be laid. 
" And shall the haughty infidel pollute this sacred land ? " 
Almauzor said, as mournfully he marked his dwindling band. 
" Upon our glorious crescent shall the Spaniard set his heel ? 
And is there not one lingering hope ? Can Heaven no aid reveal ? 
Ay, by our holy Prophet, now, one ally stiU remains ! 
And I will bind him close to me, — for better death than chains ! 

The victors at the banquet sat, and music lent its cheer, 
When suddenly a sentry's voice announced a stranger near 
From Alphuara had he come, with fierce, unwonted speed, 
And nmch it would import to bpam the news he bore to heed. 
" Admit him ! " cry the revellers ; and in the pilgrim strode. 
And, throwing off his mantle loose, a Moorish habit showed ! 
" Almanzor ! King Almanzor ! " they cried, with one acclaim . 
"AlmanzDr!" said the Moslem cmef; ''Almanzor is my name. 

" To serve your prophet and your king, Spaniards, I am here ; 
Believe, reject me, if you will, — this breast has outlived fear ! 
No longer in his creed or cause Almanzor can confide ; 
For all the Powers above, 't is clear, are fighting on your side." 
" Now, welcome, welcome, gallant Moor ! " the Spanish chieftain said ; 
" Grenada's last intrenchment now we speedily shall tread. 
Approach, embrace ; our waning feast thy coming shall renew ; 
And in this cup of foaming wine we '11 drink to yours and you.' 

Right eagerly, to grasp the hands outstretched on every side, 
Almanzor rushed, and greeted each as bridegroom might his bride 
He glued his fevered lips to theirs, — he kissed them on the cheeL 
And breathed on all as if his heart would all its passion wreak. 
But suddenly his limbs relax, a flush comes o'er his face. 
He reels, as, with a pressure faint, he gives a last embrace ; 
And livid, purple grows his skin, and wild his eyeballs roll, 
And some great torture seems to heave the life-roots of his soul. 

" Look, Giaours ! * wscreants in race, and infidels in creed ! 
Look on this pale, ua Ported face, and tell me what ye read ! 
These limbs convulsed, these fiery pangs, these eyeballs hot and blear 
Ha ' know ye not what they porter:d ? The plague the ■ plague, is 

here ! 
And it has sealed you for its own ; ay, every Judas kiss 
I gave shall bring anon to you an agony like this ! 
All art is vain : your poisoned blood all leech craft will defy, 
Like me ye shall in anguish writhe — like me in torture die ' " 

Once more he stepped their chief to reach, and blast him with hu 

breath ; 
But sank,, as if Revenge itself were striving hard with Death. 
* Pronounced Gowers — the ow as in power. 



kOb THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

And througli the group a horrid thrill his words and aspect woke, 
When, with a proud, undaunted mien, their chief Alphonzo spoke 
*' And deem'st thou, treacherous renegade, whatever may befall, 
These warriors true, these hearts of proof. Death ever can appall ? 
Ay, writhe and toss, no taint of fear the sight to them can bring 
Their souls are shrived, and Death himself for them has lost his sting 

** Then let him come as gory War, with life-wounds deep and red, 

Or let him strike as fell Disease, with racking pains instead, 

Still in these spirits he shall find a power that shall defy 

All woe and pain that can but make the mortal body die. 

So, brethren, leave this carrion here, — nay, choke not with tht 

gall!- 
And through our camps a note of cheer let every bugle call. 
We '11 tear yon crescent from its tower ere stars are out to-night : 
And let Death come, — we '11 heed him not ! — so, forward ! to the 

fight ! " 

A groan of rage upon his lips, Almanzor hid his head 
Beneath his mantle's ample fold, and soon was with the dead. 
But, roused by those intrepid words to death-defying zeal. 
The chieftains armed as if they longed to hear the clash of steel. 
The trumpets sounded merrily, while, dazzlingly arrayed, 
On Alphudra's walls they rushed, and low the crescent laid. 
And of the gallant, gallant hearts who thus grim Death defied, 
'Mid pestilence and carnage, none of plague or battle died. 



CHAKADE 0.x THE NAME OF (UMPBELL, THE POET. — W. M. Praed. Born. 
1807 ; died, 1845. 

OoME from my First, — ay, come ! the battle dawn is nigh, 

And the screaming trump and thundering drum are calling thee to die ' 

Fight as thy father fought, fall as thy father fell ; 

Thy task is taught, thy shroud is wrought, — so forward, and farewell 

Toll ye my Second, toll ! Fill high the flambeau's light, 
And sing the hymn of a parted soul, beneath the silent night. 
The wreath upon his head, the cross upon his breast. 
Let the prayer be said, and the tear be shed, — so, take him to bi« 
rest 

Call ye my Whole, — ay, call the lord of lute and lay, 

And let him greet the sable pall with a noble song to-day ' 

Go. call him by his name ! — no fitter hand may crave 

To light the flame of a soldier's fame, on the turf of a soldier's gra?e 



PART SEVEiNTIl 



SCRIPTURAL AND DEVOTIONAL 



1. BALAAM'S PROPHECY IN BEHALF OF ISRAEL.— .Vumfteri. 

And Balaam lifted up his eyes, and he saw Israel abiding in hj 
tentd according to their tribes ; and the .spirit of God came upon bim. 
And he took up his parable, and said : 

Balaam, the son of Boor, huth said, and the man whose eyes are 
open, hath said ; — he hath said, which heard the words of God, which 
saw the vision of the Almighty, — falling into a trance, but having 
his eyes open : — How goodly are thy tents, Jacob, and thy 
tabernacles, Israel ! As the valleys are they spread forth, a><3 
gardens by the river's side, as the trees of lign aloes which the Lord 
hath planted, and as cedar-trees beside the waters. His king shaU 
be higher than Agag, and his kingdom shall be exalted. 

God is not a man, that He should lie ; neithea* the son of man, that 
He should repent. Hath He said, and shall He not do it ? Or, hath 
He spoken, and shall He not make it good ? Behold, I have received 
commaLdmeni, to bless ; and He hath blessed ; and I cannot reverse 
it. How shall I curse, whom God hath not cursed ? Or, how shall 
I defy, whom the Lord hath not defied ? He hath not beheld iniquity 
in Jacob, neither hath He seen perverseness in Israel : the Lord his 
God is with him, and the shout of a King is among them. God 
brought him forth out of Kgypt ; he hath as it were, the strength of 
an unicorn : he shall eat up the nations, hia enemies, and shall break 
their bones, and pierce them through w'th his arrows. Surely there 
ii no enchantment against Jacob, neither is there any divination against 
Israel • according to this time it shall be said of Jacob and of Israel. 
Wliat hath God wrought ! Behold, the People shall rise up as a 
great lion, and lift up himself as a young lion : he shall not lie down 
until he eat of the prey, and drink the blood of the slain. 

For, from the top of the rocks I see him ; and from the hills 1 
liehold him : lo, the People shall dwell alone, and shall not be reck- 
oned among the nations. Who can count the dust of Jacob, nnd tha 
numl:)er of tlie fourth part of Israel ? L^et nre die ihc death of tiw 
rishteous, and let rev last eaa be like his .' 



460 THE STANDAR>. SPEAKEl., 



i PAUL'S DEfENCt KEt'OUE FESTUS ANE AGRIPFA, 

I THINK myself happj King xlgrippa, because I shall answer foi 
myself this day before thee, touching all the things whereof 1 am 
accused of the Jews , especially because I know thee to be expert in 
all customs and questions which are among the Jews ; wherefore ] 
beseech thee to hear me patiently. 

My manner ol' life from my youth, which was at the first among 
mine own Nation at Jerusalem, know all the Jews ; which knew me 
fi'om the beginning, if they would testify, that after the most straitesr 
sect of our religion, I lived a Pharisee. And now I stand and am 
judged for the hope of the promise made of God unto our fathers ; 
unto which promise our twelve tribes, instantly serving God day and 
night, hope to come. For which hope's sake. King Agrippa, I am 
accused of the Jews. 

Why should it be thought a thing incredible with you, that God 
should raise the dead ? I verily thought with myself, that I ought 
to do many things contrary to the name of Jesus of Nazareth ; which 
thing I also did in Jerusalem ; and many of the saints did I shut up 
in prison, having received authority from the chief priests ; and whtn 
they were put to death, I gave my voice against them. And I pun- 
ished them oft in every synagogue, and compelled them to blaspheme ■ 
and being exceedingly mad against them, I persecuted them even unto 
strange cities. 

Whereupon, as I went to Damascus, with authority and commission 
from the chief priests, at mid-day, King ! I saw in the way a light 
from Heaven, above the brightness of the- sun, sliining round about 
me, and them whichi journeyed with me. And when we were all 
fallen to the earth, I heard a voice speaking unto me, and saying, in 
the Hebrew tongue, " Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me ? It is 
hard for thee to kick against the goads." And I said, " Who art thou, 
Lord ? " And he said, " I am Jesus, whom thou persecutest ; Dut 
rise, and stand upon thy feet ; for I have appeared unto th.^.e for this 
purpose, to make thee a minister and a witness, both of these thmg« 
which thou hast seen, and of those things in the which I wUl appear 
unto thee ; delivering thee from the People, and from the Gentiles, 
unto whom now I send thee, to open their eyes, and to turn them 
from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan unto God ; that 
they may receive forgiveness of sins, and inheritance among them 
which are sanctified by faith that is in me." 

Whereupon, O King Agrippa ' 1 was not disobedient unto the 
heavenly vision ; but showed first unto them of Damascus and at 
Jerusalem, and throughout all the coasts of Judaea, and then to the 
Gentiles, that they should repent and turn to God, and do works meet 
for repentance. For these causes the Jews caught me in the temple, 
and went about to kill me. Having, therefore, obtained help of God, 
f continue unto this day, witnessing both to small and great, saying 
Qone other things than those which the prophets and Mose? did say 



SCRIPTCUAx. AXD DETOTIONAL. 461 

BbouIJ •v.Le — that Christ should suffer, and. that lie shou-d be the 
first th.a -houIJ rise from the dead, and should show light unto the 
Peor -tf -''id to the Gentiles. 



3. OYNIPOTKNCE OF JiiUOWn. — Job, translatea by Rev. O. R. rToye* 

I'HtN spake Jehovah to Job out of the whirlwind, and said : 
vVho is this, that darkeneth my counsels by words without knowlc'ilgc' 
Gird up thy loins like a man ! 
I will ask thee, and answer thou me ! 

Where wast thou, when I laid the foundations of the earth ' 
Declare, since thou hast such knowledge ! 
Who fixed its dimensions ? since thou knowest ! 
Or who stretched out the line upon it 
Upon what were its foundations fixed 
And who laid its corner-stone, 
When -the morning-stars sang together, 
And all the sons of God shouted for joy ? 

Hast thou ])enetrated to the springs of the sea, 
And walked through the recesses of the deep ? 
Have the gates of death been disclosed to thee, 
And hast thou seen the gates of the shadow of death ? 
Hast thou surveyed the breadth of the earth ? 
Declare, since thou knowest it all ! — 
Where is the way by which light is distributed 
And the East wind let loose upon the earth ? 
Who hath prepared channels for the rain, 
And a jjath for the glittering thunderbolt, 
To give rain to the land without an inhabitant, 
To the wilderness, where is no man ; 
To satisfy tlie desolate and waste ground. 
And cause the bud of the tender herb to spring forth ' 

Canst thou bind the sweet influences of the Pleiadea 
Or loosen the bands of Orion V 
Canst thou lead forth Mazzaroth in its season, 
Or guide Arcturus with his sons ? 
Knowest thou the ordinances of the Heavens ? 
Hast thou appointed their dominion over the earth f 
Canst thou lift up thy voice to the clouds, 
So that abundance of waters will cover thee ? 
Canst thou send forth lightnings, so that they will go, 
And say to thee, " Here we are " ? 
Who hath imparted understanding to thy reina, 
And given intelligence to thy mind ? 
Who numbereth the clouds in wisdom ? 

Hast thou given the horse strength ? 
Hast lliou clothed his neck with thunder ? 
Kast thou taught him U. bound like the locust ? 



id2 THE STANDAKD SPEAKER. 

How majestic his snorting ! how terrible ! 
He paweth in the valley ; he exulteth in hi3 streiigtk 
And rusheth into the midst of arms. 
He laugheth at feai , he trcmbleth not, 
And turneth not back from the sword. 
■ Against him rattleth the quiver, 
The flaming spear, and the lance. 
With i:age and fury he devoureth the ground , 
He standeth not still when the trumpet souudeth. 
He saith among the trumpets, Aha ! aha ! 
And snuifeth the battle afar ofi"; 
The thunder of the captains, and the war-shout. 



4. TRUE WISDOM. —yo6, translated by Rev. G. R. yoyes 

Where shall wisdom be found ? 
And where is the place of understanding ? 
Man knoweth not the price thereof; 
Nor can it be found in the land of the living. 
The deep saith. It is not in me ; 
And the sea saith. It is not with me. 
It cannot be gotten for gold. 

Nor shall silver be weighed out as the price thereof. 
It cannot be purchased with the gold of Ophir, 
With the precious onyx, or the sapphire. 
Gold and crystal are not to be compared with it ; 
Nor can it be purchased with jewels of fine gold. 
No mention shall be made of coral, or of crj'stal, 
For wisdom is more precious than pearls. 
The topaz of P]thiopia cannot equal it, 
Nor can it be purchased with the purest gold. 

Whence, then, cometh wisdom ? 
And where is the place of understanding ? 
Since it is hidden from the eyes of all the living 
And kept close from the fowls of the air. 
The realms of Death say, 

We have heard only a rumor of it with our ears 
God alone knoweth the way to it ; 
He alone knoweth its dwelling-place. 
For He seeth to the ends of the earth, 
And surveyeth all things under the whole Heavsa 
When He gave the winds their weight. 
And adjusted the waters by measure, — 
When He prescribed laws to the ram, 
And a path to the glittering thunderbolt, ' 
Th^.n did H« see it, and make it known ; 



SCRIPTUHAL ^ND DEVOTIONAL. 408 

3e esuiblished it, and searched it out ; 

But he said unto man, 

Behold ! the fear of the Lord, that is wisdom ; 

And to depart from evil, that is understanding. 



t A. NATION'S SrUENGTH. — Psalm 33, translated by Rev Q R Koftt. 

Hapi'Y the Nation whose God is Jehovah ; 
rhe People whom He hath chosen for His inheritance 
rhe Lord looketh down from Heaven ; 
Re beholdeth all the children of men ; 

From His dwelling-place He beholdeth all the inhabitants of the earth 
He, that formed the hearts of all, 
And observeth all their works. 
A King is not saved by the number of his forces, 
Nor a hero by the greatness of his strength. 
The horse is a vain thing for safety. 
Nor can he deliver his master by his great strength. 

Behold, the eye of the Lord is upon them that fear Him , 
Upon them that trust in ] lis goodness ; 
To save them from the power of death, 
And keep thera alive in famine. 
The hope of our souls is in the Lord ; 
He is our help and our shield. 
Yea, in Him doth our heart rejoice ; 
Li His holy name we have confidence. 

May Thy goodness be upon us, Lord, 
According as we trust in Thee ! 



6. EXHORTATION TO PRAISE QOT). — Psalms. 

Praise ye the Lord. Praise ye the Lord from the heavens ; praisa 
him in the heights. Praise ye him, all his angels : praise ye him, all 
his hosts. Praise ye him, sun and moon : praise him, all ye stars of 
light. Praise him, ye heavens of heavens, and ye waters that ba 
above the heavens. Let them praise the name of the Lord : for he 
commanded, and they were created. He hath also stablished them 
for rver and ever : he hath made a decree which shall not pass. Praise 
the Lord from the earth, ye dragons and all deeps : fire, and hail 
dnow, and vapors ; stormy wind fulfilling his word : mountains, and 
all hills ; fruitful trecis, and all cedars ; beasts, and all cattle ; creep- 
ing things, and flying fowl ; kings of the earth, and all people ; princes, 
and all judges of the earth ; both young men, and maidens ; old men, 
and children ; let them praise the name of the Lord : for his name 
ilone is excellent "5 his glory is above the earth and heaven. 

Praise ye the Lord. Praise God in his sanctuary : praise him ir 



164 THE STANDARD SPEAKER 

the firmament of his power. Praise him for his mighty acts : praist 
him according to 'his excellent greatness. Praise him with the sound 
of the trumpet; praise him with the psaltery and harp. Praise hius 
with the timbrel and dance : praise him with stringed instruments and 
organs. Praise him upon the loud cymbals : praise him upon the 
high-sounding cymbals. . Let everything that hath breath praise the 
Lord. Praise ye the Lord. 



7. THE JOYFUL MESSENGER. — haiah, translated by BUhop Lowth. 

How Deautiful appear on the mountains 
The feet of the joyful messenger, — of him that announceth peace ! 
Of the joyful messenger of good tidings, — of him that announceth 

salvation ! 
Of him, that sayeth unto Sion, Thy God reigneth ! 
All thy watchmen lift up their voice : they shout together ; 
For, face to face shall they see, when Jehovah returneth to Sion. 
Burst forth into joy, shout together, ye ruins of Jerusalem I 
For Jehovah hath comforted His people ; He hath redeemed Israel. 
Jehovah hath made bare His holy arm, in the sight of all the Nation? 
A.nd all the ends of the earth have seen the salvation of our God. 

Depart, depart ye, go ye out from thence; touch no polluted thing- 
Go ye out from the midst of her ; be ye clean, ye that bear the vessek 

of Fehovah ! 
Verily not in haste shall ye go forth ; 
A.nd not by flight shall ye march along . 
For Jehovah shall march in your front ; 
A.nd the God of Israel shall bring up your rear. 



8. HYMN OP OUR FFRST PARENTS. —JV/iVfon. 

These are thy glorious works. Parent of good, 
Almighty ! thine this universal frame, 
Thus wondrous fair ; thyself how wondrous, then 
Unspeakable, who sitt'st above these Heavens, 
To us invisible, or dimly seen 
In these thy lowest works ; yet these declare 
Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine. 
Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light, 
Angels ; for ye behold him, and with songs 
And choral symphonies, day without night, 
Circle his throne rejoicing ; ye in Heaven, 
On earth join, all ye creatures, to extol 
Him first. Him last, Him midst, and without enii. 
Fairest of stars, last in the train of night, 
If better thou belong not to the dawn. 
Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling raon 



ECRIPTCRAL AND DEVOTIO^flL. — TUCM^iON. 405 

With thy bright circlet, praise Him m thy sphere, 

While day arises, that sweet hour of prime. 

Thou Sun, of this great world both eye and soul, 

Acknowledge Him thy greater ; sound His praise 

[n thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st, 

A.nd when high noon hast gained, and when thou fall'st 

Moon, that now meet'st the Orient sun, now fly'st 

With the fixed stars, fixed in their orb that flies ; 

A.nd ye five other wandering fires, that move 

[n mystic dance, not without song, resound 

His praise who out of darkness called up light. 

Air, and ye elements, the eldest birth 

Of Nature's womb, that in quaternion run 

Perpetual circle multiform, and mix 

And nourish all things, let jom ceaseless change 

Vary to our great Maker still new praise. 

Ye mists and exhalations, that now rise 

Prom hill or steaming lake, dusky or gray. 

Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold, 

In honor to the World's great Author rise ; 

Whether to deck with clouds the uncolored sky, 

Or wet the thirsty earth with fixlling showers, 

Rising or falling, still advance His praise. 

His praise, ye winds, that from four quarters blow, 

Breathe soft or loud ; and wave your tops, ye pines. 

With every plant, in sign of worship wave. 

Fountains, and ye that warble as ye flow. 

Melodious murmurs, warbling, tune His praise ; 

Join voices, all ye living souls ; ye birds. 

That singing up to heaven-gate ascend, 

Bear on your wings and in your notes His praiae. 

Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk 

The earth, and stately tread or lowly creep, 

Witness if I be silent, morn or even, 

To hill or valley, fountain, or fresh shade. 

Made vocal by my song, and taught His praise. 



9. THE UnrVjSRSAL HYMN OF NATURE. — TAomson. 

These, as they change. Almighty Father, thost 
Are but the varied God. The rolling year 
Is full of Thee. Forth in the pleasing Spring 
Thy beauty walks, Thy tenderness and love. 
Wide flush the fields ; the softening air is balm ; 
Echo the mountains round ; the forest smiles ; 
And every sense and every heart is joy. 
Then comes Thy glory in the Summer months, 
With light and heat refulgent. Then Thy sun 
30 



Jt>^ , THB STANDARD SPEAKER. 

Shoots full perfection througli the swelling yearj 
And oft Thy voice in dreadful thunder speaks : 
And oft at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve, 
By brooks and groves, in hollow-whispering gal^ 
Thy bounty shines in Autumn unconfined, 
And spreads a common feast for all that lives. 
Fn Winter, awful Thou ! with clouds and storms 
Around Thee thrown, tempest o'er tempest rolled 
Majestic darkness ! on the whirlwind's wing, 
Ridihg sublime. Thou bidd'st the world adore, 
And humblest Nature with Thy northern blast. 

Mysterious round ! what skill, what force divine 
Deep felt, in these appear ! a simple train, 
Yet so delightful mixed, with such kind art. 
Such beauty and beneficence combined ; 
Shade, unperceived, so softening into shade ; 
And all so forming an harmonious whole ; 
That, as they still succeed, they ravish still. 
But wandering oft, with brute unconscious gaze, 
Man marks not Thee, marks not the mighty hand- 
That, ever busy, wheels the silent spheres ; 
Works in the secret deep ; shoots, steaming, thence 
The fair profusion that o'erspreads the Spring ; 
Flings from the sun direct tlie flaming day ; 
Feeds every creature ; hurls the tempest forth ; 
And, as on earth this grateful change revolves. 
With transport touches all the springs of life. 

Nature, attend I join, every living soul. 
Beneath the spacious temple of the sky. 
In adoration join ; and, ardent, raise 
One general song ! , To Him, ye vocal gales, 
Breathe soft, whose Spirit in your freshness breathes i 
0, talk of Him in solitary glooms. 
Where, o'er the rock, the scarcely-waving pine 
Fills the brown shade with a I'eligious awe. 
And ye, whose bolder note is heard afar, 
Who shake the astonished world, lift high to Heaver. 
The impetuous song, and say from whom you rage. 
His praise, ye brooks, attune, ye trembling rills ; 
And let me catch it as I muse along. 
Ye headlong torrents, rapid, and profound ; 
Ye softer floods, that lead the humid maze 
Along the vale ; and thou, majestic main, 
A. secret world of wonders in thyself, 
Sound His st'ipendous praise ; whose greatei voice 
Or bids 3/0U roar, or bids your roarings fall. 
Soft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowem 
In mingled clouds to Him ; whose sun exalts. 



eCKIPTUKAL AND DEVOT.CNAL. — COLEUIDGE, 4G*i 

Whose breath perfumes you, and whose peucil paints 

Ye forests bend, ye harvests wave, to Him ; 

Breathe your still song into the reaper's heart., 

As home he goes beneath the joyous moon 

Ye that keep watch in Heaven, as earth asleep 

Unconscious lies, effuse your mildest beams 

Fe .constellations, while your angels strike 

Amid the spangled sky, the silver lyre. 

Great source of day ! best image here oelow 

Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide, 

From world to world, the vital ocean round, 

On Nature write with every beam His praise. 



10. CIIAMOUNY. — S. T. Coleridge. 

Hast thou a charm to stay the morning star 
In his steep course ? — so long he seems to pause 
On thy bald, awful front, sovereign Blanc • 
The Arve and Arveiron at thy base 
RavQ ceaselessly ; but thou, moBt awtm torm, 
Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines 
How silently ! Around thee and above. 
Deep is the air, and dark ; substantial blacfe, 
An ebon mass : methinks thou piercest it, 
As with a wedge ! But, when I look again, 
It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shiine, 
Thy habitation from eternity. 

dread and silent mount ! I gazed upon thee. 
Till thou, still present to the bodily sense. 

Didst vanish from my thought : entranced in prayer, 

1 worshipped the Invisible alone. 

Yet, like some sweet, beguiling melody, 

So sweet, we know not we are listening to it, 

Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my thoiughk,- 

Yea, with my life, and life's own secret joy — 

Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused. 

Into the mighty vision passing — there, 

As in her natural form, swelled vast to Heaven 

Awake, my soul ' Not only passive praise 
Thou owest ; not alone these swelling tears. 
Mute thanks, and silent ecstasy. Awake, 
Voice of sweet song ! Awake, my heart, awake. 
Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my hymn. 

Thou, first and chief, sole sovereign of the vale ! 
! struggling with the darkness all the night, 
And visited all night by troops of stars, 
Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink — 



iS8 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

Companion of the morning star at dawu. 
Thyself earth's rosy star, and of the dawn 
Co-herald, wake ! wake ! and utter praise I 
Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth ? 
Who filled thy countenance with rosy light ? 
Who made thee parent of perpetual streams ? 

And you, ye five wild torrents, fiercely glad !* 

Who called you forth from night and utter death. 

From dark and icy caverns called you forth, 

Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks, 

Forever shattered, and the same forever ? 

Who gave you your invulnerable life. 

Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy 

Unceasing thunder, and eternal foam ? 

And who commanded, — and the silence came, — 

" Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest " ? 

Ye ice-falls ! ye, that, from the mountain's brow- 

Adown enormous ravines slope amain, — 

Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, 

And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge ! 

Motionless torrents ! silent cataracts ! — 

Who made you glorious as the gates of Heaven 

Beneath the keen full moon ? Who bade the sun 

Clothe you with rainbows ? Who with living flowers' 

Of loveliest blue spread garlands at your feet ? — 

" God ! " let the torrents, like a shout of Nations, 

Answer : and let the ice-plains echo, " God ! 

" God ! " sing, ye meadow-streams, with 

Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds I 

And they, too, have a voice, yon piles of snow. 

And, in their perilous fall, shall thunder, " God ! " 

Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain-storm ! 

Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds ! 

Ye signs and wonders of the elements ! 

Utter forth " God ! " and fill the hills with praise. 

Thou, too, hoar mount, with thy sky-pointmg peatM, 
Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard, 
Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene 
Into the depth of clouds, that veil thy breast — 
Thou, too, again, stupendous mountain ! thou 
That — as I raise my head, a while bowed low 
In adoration, upward from thy base 
Slow travelling with dim eyes suffused with tears « 
Solemnly seemest, like a vapory cloud, 
To rise before me — rise, ever rise ! 
Rise, like a cloud of incense, from the earth ! 
Thou kingly spirit, throned among the hilLs, 



BCRiPTURAL AND TEVOTIONAL. — BlIATTIE. 4t)9 

Thou dread ambassador fi-om earth to Heaven, 
Great hierarcL, tell thou the silent sky, 
And tell the stars, and tell you ri.sing suu, 
"Earth with hjr thousand voices, praises God. ' 



U THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS &OVL. — Alexander P<^ 

Vital spark of heavenly flame, 
Quit, 0, quit this mortal frame ! 
Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying 
0, the pain, the bliss, of dying . 
Cease, fond Nature, cease thy strife. 
And let me languish into life ! 

Hark ! they whisper ; angels say 
Sister Spirit, come away ; 
What is this absorbs me quite, — 
Steals my senses, shuts my sight. 
Drowns my spirits, draws my breath ? 
Tell me, my soul ! can this be death ? 

The world recedes, — it disappears ! 

Heaven opens on my eyes ! my ears 

With sounds seraphic ring. 

Lend, lend your wings ! I mount, I fly ! 

Grave ! where is thy victory ? 

death ! where is thy sting ? 



IS. LIFE BEYOND THE TOMB, — /ames Beattie. Born, 1735 ; died, II 

Such is the destiny of all on earth : 

So flourishes and fades majestic Man ; — 

Fair is the bud his vernal morn brings forth, 
And fostering gales a while the nursling fan. 

smile, ye Heavens, serene ' Ye mildews wan 
Ye blighting whirlwinds, spare his balmy prime, 

Nor lessen of his life the little span. 

Borne on the swift though silent wings of Time, 
Old Age comes on apace, to ravage all the clinm 

And be it so. Let those deplore their doom, 
Whose hope still grovels in this dark sojourn; 

But lofty souls, who look beyond the tomb. 

Can smile at Fate, and wonder how they mourn. 

Shall Spring to these sad scenes no more return ? 
Is yonder wave the Sun's eternal bed ? 

Soon shall the Orient with new lustre burn. 
And Spring shall soon her vital influence shed, 
Again attune the grove, again adorn the mead. 



CO THE STANDARD SPEAKEK. 

Shall I be left, forgotten in the dust, 

When Fate, relenting, lets the flower revive ? 
Shall Nature's voice, to Man alone unjust. 

Bid him, though doomed to perish, hope to live ? 
Is it for this fair Virtue oft must strive 

With disappointment, penury, and pain ? 
No ! Heaven's immortal Spring shall yet arrive, 

And man's majestic beauty bloom again, 

Bright thi'ough the eternal year of Love's triumphant raga 



13. FORGIVENESS. 

When on the fragi-ant sandal-tree 

The woodman's axe descends. 
And she who bloomed so beauteously 

Beneath the keen stroke bends, 
E'en on the edge that wrought her death 
Dying she breathed her sweetest breath, 
As if to token, in her fall, 
Peace to her foes, and love to all. 

How hardly man this lesson learns, 

To smile, and bless the hand that spurns , 

To see the blow, to feel the pain, 

But render only love again ! 

This spirit not to earth is given, — 

One had it, but he came from Heaven. 

Reviled, rejected and betrayed. 

No curse he breathed, no 'plaint he made, 

But when in death's deep pang he sighed, 

Prayed for his mui'derers, and died. 



Iti THE CHRISTIAN LIFE.— PAt7t;)Z)oddrids-e. Bor?i, 1702 ; died, ITtt? 

•' Live while you live / the epicure would say, 
And seize the pleasures of the present day; 
"Live while you live," the Christian preacher crie«, 
" And give to God each moment as it files " 
Lord ! in my view, let both united be ; — 
I live to pleasure, while I live to thee. 



PART EIGHTH 



RHETORICAL AND DRAMATIC. 



1. ROME AND CAKTUAGE. — Victor Hu^o. Original Translation. 

Rome and Cui'thage ! — behold them drawing near for the struggle 
that is to shake the world ! Carthage, the metropolis of Africa, if 
the mistress of oceans, of kingdoms, and of Nations ; a magnificent 
city, bm-thened with opulence, radiant with the strange arts ana 
trophies of the East. She is at the acme of her civilization. She 
can mount no higher. Any change now must be a decline. Rome 
is comparatively poor. She has seized all within her grasp, but 
rather from the lust of conc[uest than to fill her own coffers. She is 
demi-barbarous, and has her education and her fortune both to make 
All is before her, ^ nothing behind. For a time, these two Nations 
exist in view of each other. The one reposes in the noontide of her 
splendor ; the other waxes strong in the shade. But, little by little. • 
air and space are wanting to each for her development. Rome begins 
to perplex Carthage, and Carthage is an eyesore to Rome. Seated on 
opposite banks of the Mediterranean, the two cities look each other in 
the face. The sea no longer keeps them apart. Europe and Africa 
weigh upon each other. Like two clouds surcharged with electricity 
they impend. With their contact must come the thunder -shock. 

The catastrophe of this stupendous drama is at hand. What actors 
are met ! Two races, — that of merchants and mariners, that of 
laborers and soldiers; two Nations, — the one dominant by gold; 
' 3 other by steel ; two Republics, — the one theocraticj the other 
aristocratic. Rome and Carthage ! Rome with her army, Carthage 
with her fleet ; Carthage, old, rich and crafty, — Rome, young, poor, 
and robust ; the past and the future ; the spirit of discovery, and the 
spirit of conquest ; the genius of commerce, the demon of war ; the 
East and the South on one side, the West and the North on the 
other ; in short, two worlds, — the civilization of Africa, and the 
civilization of Europe. They measure each other from head to foot. 
They gather all their forces. Gradually the war kindles. The world 
takes fire. These colossal powers are locked in deadly strife. Car 
thage has crossed the Alps ; Rome, the seas. The two Nations, per- 
Bcnified in two men, Hannibal and Scipio, close with each other 
tvrestle, and grow infuriate. The duel is desperate. It is a struggle 



i72 THli STANDARD SrEAKER. 

for life. Rome -wavers. She utters that cry of anguish — HannihtA 
»t the gates ! But she rallies, — collects all her strength for one lastj 
appalling effort, — throws herself upon Carthage, and sweeps her from 
the fafle of the earth ! 



2. THE DKONES OF THE COMMUNITY. — Percj/ ByssAe SkeUep. 

Those gilded flies 
That, basking in the sunshine of a Court, 
Fatten on its corruption — what are they ? 
The drones of the community ! they feed 
On the mechanic's labor ; the starved hind 
For them compels the stubborn glebe to yield 
Its unshared harvests ; and' yon squalid form, 
Leaner than fleshless misery, that wastes 
A sunless life in the unwholesome mine. 
Drags out in labor a protracted death, 
To glut their grandeur. Many faint with toil. 
That few may know the cares and woe of sloth. 

Whence, think 'st thou, kings and parasites arose? 
Whence that unnatural line of drones, who heap 
Joil and unvanquishable penury 
On those who build their palaces, and bring 
Their daily bread ? — Froiu vice, black, loathsome vice; 
From rapine, madness, treachery, and wrong ; 
From all that genders misery, and makes 
Of earth this thorny wilderness ; from lust, 
Revenge, and murder. — And, when Reason's voice- 
Loud as the voice of nature, shall have waked 
The Nations ; and mankind perceive that vice 
Is discord, war, and misery, — that virtue 
Is peace, and happiness, and harmony ; 
when man's maturer nature shall disdain 
The playthings of its childhood ; — kingly glare 
Will lose its power to dazzle ; its authority 
Will silently pass by ; the gorgeous throne 
Shall stand unnoticed in the regal hall. 
Fast falling to decay , whilst flilsehood's trade 
Shall be as hateful and unprofitable 
As that of trutli is now. 

Where is the fame 
Which the vain-glorious mighty of the earth 
Seek to eternize ? ! the faintest sound 
From time's light foot-fall, the minutest wave 
That swells the flood of ages, whelms in nothing 
The unsubstantial bubble. Ay to-day 
Stern is the tyrant's mandate, — red the gaze 
That scatters nuiltitudes. To-morrow comes ' 



RHETORICAL am: DKAMATIC. — SHERIDAN. 478 

That mandate is a tauiider-i^eul that died 

In ages past : that gaze, a transient flash 

On which the midnight closed ; and on that arm 

The worm has made his meal. 



3 C^lAR'S PASSAGE OF THE RUBICON. —c/awie* Sheridan Knowlta 

A GENTLEMAN, Mr. Chan'man, speaking of Cassar's benevolent dis- 
position, and of the reluctance with which he entered into the civil 
w^ar, observes, " How long did he pause upon the brink of the Rubi- 
con ! " How came he to the brink of that river ? How dared he 
cross it ? Shall private men respect the boundaries of private prop- 
erty, and shall a man pay no respect to the boundaries of his 
country's rights ? How dared he cross that river ? ! but he 
paused upon the brink. He should have perished upon the brink era 
he had crossed it ! Why did he pause ? Why does a man's heart 
palpitate when he is on the point of committing an unlawful deed ? 
Why does the very murderer, his victim sleeping before him, and hia 
glaring eye taking the measure of the blow, strike wide of the mortal 
part ? Because of conscience ! 'T was that made Caesar pause upon- 
the brink of the Rubicon. Compassion ! What compassion. ? The 
compassion of an assassin, that feels a momentary shudder, as his 
weapon begins to cut ! Ci^sar paused upon the brink of the Rubicon! 
What was the Rubicon ? The boundary of Ca3sar's province. From 
what did it separate his province ? From his country. Was that 
country a desert ? No : it was cultivated and fertile, rich and pop- 
ulous ! Its sons were men of genius, spirit, and generosity ! Its 
daughters were lovely, susceptible, and chaste ! Friendship was its 
inhabitant ! Love was its inhabitant ! Domestic affection was its 
inhabitant ! Liljerty was its inhabitant ! All bounded by the stream 
of the Rubicon ! What was Caesar, that stood upon the bank of that 
stream ? A traitor, bringing war and pestilence into the heart of that 
country ! No wonder that he paused, — no wonder if, his imagina- 
tion wrought upon by his conscience, he had beheld blood instead of 
water, and heard groans instead of murmurs ! No wonder, if some 
gorgon horror had turned him into stone upon the spot ! But no ! — 
he cried, "The die is cast!" He plunged' — he crossed! — and 
Rome was free no more ! 



4. ROLLA'S ADDRESS TO THE PERUVIANS. — 5Aerjrfan. 

My brave associates, — partners of my toil, my feelings, and my 
fame ! — can RoUa's words add vigor to the virtuous energies which 
inspire your hearts? No!' You have judged, as I have, the foul- 
aess of the crafty pba by which these boll invailers would delude 
you Your generous spirit has compared, us mine has the motives 
which, in a wa Rke thit), can animate their minds and ours. They 



474 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

by a strange fi enzy driven, fight for power, for plunder, and txtended 
rult! : we, for oar country, our altars, and our homes. They follow 
an adventurer whom they fear, and obey a power which they hate : 
we serve a. monarch whom we lov? — a God whom we adore. When- 
e'er they move in anger, desolation tracks their progress ! Whene'er 
they pause in amity, affliction mourns their friendship. They boast 
they come but to improve our state, enlarge our thoughts, and free ua 
from the yoke of error ! Yes : they will give enlightened freedom t« 
our minds, who are themselves the slaves of passion, avarice, and 
pride !' They oifer us their pi-otection : yes, such protection as vultures 
give to lambs — covering and devouring them ! They call on us 
to barter all of good we have enhanced and proved, for the desperate 
chance of something better which they promise. Be our plain answer 
this : — The throne we honor is the People's choice ; the laws we 
reverence are our brave fathers' legacy ; the faith we follow teaches 
us to live in bonds of charity with all mankind, and die with hope of 
bliss beyond the grave. Tell your invaders this ; and tell them, too, 
we seek no change, — and, least of all, such change as they wouL'l 
bring us ! 



5. RICHELIEU AND FRANCE. —Sir E. Bulwer Lytton. 

My liege, your anger can recall your trust, 
Annul my oiSce, spoil me of my lands. 
Rifle my coffers ; but my name, — my deeds, — 
Are royal in a land beyond your sceptre. 
Pass sentence on me, if you will ; — from Kings, 
Lo, I appeal to time ! Be just, my liege. 
I found your Kingdom rent with heresies. 
And bristling with rebellion ; — lawless nobles 
And breadless serfs; England fomenting discord , 
Austria, her clutch on your dominion; Spain 
Forging the prodigal gold of either Iiid 
To armed thunderbolts. The Arts lay dead ; 
Trade rotted in your marts; your Armies mutinous, 
Your Treasury bankrupt. Would you now revoke 
Your trust, so be it ! and I leave you, sole, 
Supreraest Monarch of the mightiest realm. 
From Ganges to the Icebergs. Look without, — 
No foe not humbled ! Look within, — the Arts 
Quit, for our schools, their old Hesperides, 
The golden Italy ! while throughout the veins 
Of your vast empire flows in strengthening tides 
Trade, the calm health of Nations ! Sire, I know 
That men have called me cruel ; — 
I am not ; — I am just I I found France rent asunder 
'The rich men despots, and the poor banditti , 
Sloth in the mart, and schism within the templo 



RHETORICAL AXD 1>KAMATIC, BULWER. 47^ 

Brawls festering to rebellion ; and weak laws 

Rotting away with rust in antique sheaths. 

I have re-crcatyd France; and, from the ashes 

Of tlie old leudal and decrepit carcass, 

Civilization, on her luminous wings, 

Soars, phocnix-like, to Jove ! wlat was my art ? 

Genius, some say ; — some, Fortune ; — Witchcraft, some. 

Not so ; — my art was Justice ! 



I CBOMWELL ON THE DEATll OF CHARLIES THE FIRST. -Original odoptrtws 
from Sir E. Bulwer Lylton. 

By what law fell King Charl-js? By all the laws 
He left us ! And I, Cromwell, here proclaim it. 
Sirs, let us, with a calm and sober eye, 
Look on the spectre of this ghastly deed. 
Who sjiills man's blood, his shall by man be shed ! 
'Tis Heaven's hnst law; to that law we had come, — 
None other left us. Who, then, caused the strife 
That crimsoned Naseby's field, 'and Marstoti's moor« 
It was the Stuart ; — so the Stuart fell ! 
A victim, in the pit himself had digged ! 
He died not, Sirs, as hated Kings hafve died, 
In secret and in shade, — no eye to trace 
The one step from their prison to their pall ; 
He died i' the eyes of Europe, — in the face 
Of the broad Heaven ; amidst the sons of England, 
Whom he had outraged ; by a solemn .sentence. 
Passed by a solenm Court. Does this seem guilt? 
You pity Charles ! 't is well ; but pity more ° 
The tens of thousand honest humble men. 
Who, by the tyranny of Charles compelled 
To draw the sword, fell butchered in the field ! 
Good Lord ! when one man dies who wears a Crown, 
How the earth trembles, — how the Nations crape, 
Amazed and awed ! — but when that one man's victiiua, 
Poor worms, unclothed in purple, daily die. 
In the grim cell, or on the groaning gibbet, 
• Or on the civil field, ye pitying souls 
Drop not one tear ii'om your indifterent eyes ! 

He would have stretched his will 
O'er the unlimited empire of men's souls. 
Fettered the Eai-th's pure air, — for freedon: ia 
That air, to honest lips, — and here he lies. 
In dust most eloquent, to after time 
A never-silent oracle for Kings ! 
Was this the hand that strained within its grasp 
So haught a sceptre ? — this the shape that wore 
Majesty like a garment ? Spurn that clay, — 



476 tHE STANDARD SPEAKEK. 

It can resent not ; speak of royal crimes, 
And it can frown not ; — schemeless lies the brain 
Whose thoughts were sources of such fearful deeds. 
What things are we, Lord, when, at thy will, 
A worm like this could shake the mighty world ? 
A few years since, and in the port was moored 
A bark to far Columbia's forests bound ; 
And I was one of those indignant hearts 
Panting for exile in the thirst for freedom. 
Then, that pale clay (poor clay, that was a King!) 
Forbade my parting, in the wanton pride 
Of vain command, and with a fated sceptre 
Waved back the shadow of the deatli to come. 
Here stands that baliled and forbidden wanderer. 
Loftiest amid the wrecks of ruined empire, 
Beside the coffin of a headless King ! 
He thralled my fate, — I have prepared his doom 
He made me captive, — lo ! his narrow cell ! 
So hands unseen do fashion forth the earth 
Of our frail schemes into our ftmeral urns ; 
So, walking di-eam-led in Life's sleep, our steps 
Move blindfold to the scaifold or the Throne ! 



? PROCKEATrVE VIRTUE OF GREAT EXAMPLES. —LordBfron. 

We will not strike for private wrongs alone . 
Such are for selfish passions and. rash men, 
But are unworthy a tyrannicide. 
We must forget all feelings save the one ; 
We must resign all passions save our purpose ; 
We must behold no object save our country, — 
And only look on death as beautiful, 
So that the sacrifice ascend to Heaven, 
And draw down freedom on her evermore. 

" But if we fail — ? ' They never fail who die 
In a great cause ! The block may soak their gore.' 
Their heads may sodden in the sun ; their limbs 
Be strung to city gates and castle walls ; — 
But still their spirit walks abroad Though years 
Elapse, and others share as dark a doom, 
They but augment the deep and sweeping thoughts 
Which overpower all others, and conduct 
The world, at last, to freedom ? WTiat were we, 
If Brutus had not lived ? He died in giving 
Eome liberty, but left a deathless lesson, — 
A name which is a virtue, and a soul 
Which multiplies itself throughout all time, 
When wicked men wax mighty, and a State 



RIIETOklCAL AXD DRAMATIC. BYRON. 177 

Turns servile. He and his high friends were styied 
" The last of Romans ! '" Let us be the fii-st 
Of true Venetians, sprung from Roman sires ; 



J UAJIINO FALIERO TO THE VENETIAN C0NSPIRAT0K3 —Lori Syn 

You see me here, 
As one of you hath said, an old, unarmed. 
Defenceless man ; and yesterday you saw me 
Presiding in the hall of ducal state, 
Apparent sovereign of our hundred isles, 
Robed in official purple, dealing out 
The edicts of a power which is not mine. 
Nor yours, but of our masters, the Patricians. 
"Why I was there, you know, or think you knowj 
Why I am here, he who hath been most wronged, 
He who among you hath been most insulted, 
Outraged, and trodden on, until he doubt 
If he be worm or no, may answer for me, 
Asking of his own heart, — what brought him here 
You know my recent story ; all men know it, 
And judge of it far differently from those 
Who sate in judgment to heap scorn on scorn. 
But spare me the recital, — it is here, 
Here, at my heart, the outrage ! — but my words, 
Already spent in unavailing 'plaints, 
Would only show my feebleness the more ; 
And I come here to strengthen even the strong, 
And urge them on to deeds, and not to war 
With woman's weapons ; but I need not urge you. 
Our private wrongs have sprung fi-om public vices 
In this — I cannot call it commonwealth, 
Nor kingdom, which hath neither prince ncr Peopli, 
But all the sins of the old Spartan state, 
Without its virtues, temperance, and valor. 
The lords of Lacedemon were true soldiers ; 
But ours are Sybarites, while we are Helots, 
Of whom I am the lowest, most enslaved, . 
Although dressed out to head a pageant, as 
The Greeks of yore made drunk their slaves, tc fona 
A pastime for their children. You are met 
To overthrow this monster of a State, 
Chis mockery of a Government, this spectre, 
WTiich must be exorcised with blood, and then 
We will renew the times of truth and justice, 
Condensing, in a fair, free commonwealth. 
Not rasL equality, but equal rightsj, 
Proportioned like the colmnns to the temple, 



47? THE STANDARD SPEAKER, 

Giving and taking strength reciprocal, 
And making firm the whole with grace and beautj, 
So that no part could be removed without 
Infringement on the general symmetry. 
In operating this great change, I claim 
To be one of you, if you trust in me : 
If not, strike home ; — my life is compromised, 
And I would rather fall by freemen's hands. 
Than live another day to act the tyrant, 
As delegate of tyrants. Such I am not, 
And never have been. Eead it in our annals. 
I can appeal to my past government 
In many lands and cities ; they can tell you 
If I were an oppressor, or a man 
Feeling and thinking for my fellow-men. 
Haply, had I been what the Senate sought, 
A thing of robes and trinkets, dizened out 
To sit in state as for a sovereign's picture, — 
A popular scourge, a ready sentence-signer, 
A stickler for the Senate and " the Forty," 
A sceptic of all measures which had not 
The sanction of " the Ten," — a council-fawner, 
A tool, a fool, a puppet, — they had ne'er 
■ Fostered the wretch who stung me ! What I suffer 
Has reached me through my pity for the People • 
That many know, and they who know not yet 
• Will one day learn ; meantime, I do devote, 
Whaie'er the issue, my last days of life, — 
My present power, such as it is ; not that 
Of Doge, but of a man who has been great 
Before he was degraded to a Doge, 
And still has individual means and mind ; — 
I stake my fame (and I had fame), — my breath 
(The least of all, for its last hours are nigh), — 
My heart, my hope, my soul, upon this cast ! 
Such as I am, I offef me to you, 
And to your chiefs. Accept me or reject me, —■ 
A prince who fain would be a citizen 
Or nothing, and who has left his throne to be 60 ! 



9. DYING SPEECH OF MARINO FALIERO. — Zrfird Byrjm. 

I SPEAK to Time and to Eternity, 
Of which I grow a portion, not to man. 
Ye elements ! in which to be resolved 
I hasten, let my voice be as a spirit 
Upon you ! Ye blue waves ! which bore my bannw 
Ye winds I which fluttered o'er qs if you loved i\ 



flHETORICAL AND DRAMATIC. — BTKOX. 479 

Aud filled my swelling sails as they were wafted 

To many a triumph ! Thou, my native earth, 

Whlc-ti I have bled for ; and thou foreign earth, 

Which (h-auk this willing blood from many a wound 

Ye stones, in which my gore will not sink, but 

Reek up to Heaven ! Ye skies which will receive it 

Thou sun ! which shinest on these things ; and Thou, 

Who kiudlost and who quenchest suns ! — Attest 

I am not innocent, — but, are these guiltless ? 

I perish, but not unavenged ; far ages 

Float up from the abyss of time to be, 

And show these eyes, before they close, the doom 

Of this proud city ; and I leave my curse 

On her and hei-s forever ! — Yes, the hours 

Are silently engendering of the day 

When she, who built 'gainst Attila a bulwark, 

Shall yield, and bloodlessly and basely yield. 

Unto a bastard Attila, without 

Shedding so much blood in her last defence 

As these old veins, oft drained in shielding her. 

Shall pour in sacrifice. She shall be bought 

And sold, and be an appanage to those 

Who shall despise her I She shall stoop to be 

A province for an empire ; petty town 

In lieu of capital, with slaves for Senates, 

Beggars for Nobles, panders for a People ' 

Then, when the Hebrew 's in thy palaces, 

The Hun in thy high places, and the Greek 

Walks o'er thy mart, and smiles on it for his, — 

When thy Patricians beg their bitter bread 

In narrow streets, and in their shameful need 

Make their nobility a plea for pity, — 

When all the ills of conquered States shall cling thee 

Vice without splendor, sin without relief, — 

When these, and more, are heavy on thee, — when 

Smiles without mirth, and pastimes without pleasure. 

Youth without honor, age without respect, 

Meanness and weakness, and a sense of woe, 

'Gainst which t'hou wilt not strive, and dar'st not marraur 

Have made thee last and worst of peopled deserts, - 

Then, in the last gasp of thine agony, 

Amidst thy many murders, think of mine ! 

Thou den of drunkards with the blood of princes ! 

Gehenna of the waters ! thou sea Sodom ! 

Thus I devote thee to the infernal Gods ! 

Thee and thy serpent seed ! — 

Slave, do thine office 



480 THE STANDARD SPEAKEK 

Strike, a& I struck the foe ! Strike, as I would 
Elave struck these tyrants ! Strike deep as my curse S 
Strike, and but once ' 



1© CATILINE TO HIS FRIENDS, AFTER FAILING IN HIS ELECTION TO TBM 
CONSULSHIP. — flei). George Croly. 

Are there not times, Patricians, when great States 
Rush to their ruin ? Rome is no more like Rome, 
Than a foul dungeon 's like the glorious sky. 
What is she now ? Degenerate, gross, defiled , 
The tainted haunt, the gorged receptacle, 
Of every slave and vagabond of earth : 
A mighty grave that Luxury has dug. 
To rid the other reahns of pestilence ! 

Ye wait to luiil me Consul ? 
ConsBl ! Look on me, — on this brow, — these hands 
Look on this bosom, black with early wounds; 
Have I not served the State from boyhood up. 
Scattered my blood for her, labored for, loved her ? 
/had no chance ; wherefore should / be Consul ? 
No. Cicero still is master of the crowd. 
Why not ? He 's made for them, and they for hia 
They want a sycophant, and he wants slaves. 
Well, let him have them ! 

Patricians ! They have pushed me to the g'llf > 
I have worn down my heart, wasted my means, 
Humbled my birth, bartered my ancient name. 
For the rank favor of the senseless mass, 
That frets and festers in your Commonwealth, — 
And now — 

The very men with whom 1 walked through life, 
Nay, till within this hour, in all the bonds 
Of courtesy and high companionship. 
This day, as if the Heavens had stamped me black, 
Turned on their heel, just at the point of fate, 
licft me a mockery in the rabble's nudst. 
And followed their Plebeian Consul, Cicero ! 
This was the day to which I looked thi'ough life, 
And it has failed me — vanished from my grasp, 
Like air I 

Roman no more ! The rabble of the streets 
Have seen me humbled ; slaves may gibe at oae ' 
For all the ills 

That chance or nature lays upon our heads, 
In chance or nature there is found a cui-e ? 
Rut se//-abasement is beyond all cure ! 



BIIETOR .CAL AND DRAMATIC. CHOLY. ibl 

The brand is here, burned in the living flesh, 

That bears its mark to the grave ; that dagger 's plunged 

Into the central pulses of the heart ; 

Tlie act is the mind's suicide, for which 

There is no after-health, no hope, no pardon ! 



11. CATILINE'S DEFIANCE. -iJej;. George Croly. 

Tht scene, in Croty's tragedy of " Catiline," from wliich the follo\ring is taken, reprisenia 
lie Roman Senate in session, I.ictors present, a Consul iu the chair, aud Cieero on the floor «» 
the prosecutor of Catiline and his fellow-conspirators. Catiline enters, anil takes his seat ■>u 
the SenAtorial bench, whereupon the Senators go over to the other side. Cicero repeats Ilio 
charges in Catiline's presence ; and the latter rises and replies, " Conscript Fathers, I do uot 
rise," &o. Cicero, in his rejoinder, produces proofs, and exclaims : — 

" Tried and convicted traitor ! Go from Rome ! " 

Catiline haughtily tells the Senate to make the murder as they make the law. Cicero directs 
an officer to give up the record of Catiline's banishment. Catiline then utters those words • - 
" Banished from Rome," &c. ; but when he tells the Consul, 

" He dares not touch a hair of Catiline," 

the Consul reads the decree of his banishment, and orders the Lietors to drive the " traitor " 
from the temple. Catiline, furious at being thus baflleil, catches at the word " traitor," and 
terminates tie Bcene with his audacious denunciation, — " Here I devote your Senate," &c 
It the closfi^ he rushes thi-ough the portal, as the Lietors and Senators crowd upon him. 

Conscript Fathers! 
I do not rise to waste the night in words ; 
Let that Plebeian talk ; 't is not my trade ; 
But here I stand for right, — let him show proofs, — 
For Roman right ; though none, it seems, dare stand 
To take their share with me. Ay, cluster there ! 
Cling to your mastex-, judges, Romans, slaves ! 
His charge is false ; — I dare him to his proofs. 
You have my answer. Let my actions speak ! 

But this I will avow, that I have scorned. 
And still do scorn, to hide my sense of wrong ! 
Who brands me on the forehead, breals my sword, 
Or lays the bloody scourge upon my back, 
Wrongs me not half so much as he who shuts 
The gates of honor on me, — turning out 
The Roman from his birthright ; and, for what ? 

[Looking round Mm 
To fling your ofiices to every slave ! 
Vipers, that creep where man disdains to climb, 
4.nd, having wound their loathsome track to the top, 
Of this huge, mouldering monument of Rome, 
Hang hissing at the nol:)ler man below ! 

Come, consecrated Lietors, from your thrones; 

[To the Senati 
Fling down your sceptres ; take the rod and axe, 
And make the mtirder as you make the law ! 

Banished from Rome ! What 's banished, but set fret* 
From daily contact of the things I loathe * 
31 



IS2 TMB mimAks.j) speakfs. 

*■ Tried and convicted traitor ! " Who says this 1 

Who '11 prove it, at his peril, on my head ? 

Banished ! I thank you for 't. It breaks my chain T 

I held some slack allegiance till this hour ; 

But now my sword 's my own. Smile on, my Lords ! 

I scorn to count what feelings, withered hopes, 

Strong provocations, bitter, burning wrongs^ 

I have within my heart's hot cells shut up, 

To leave you in your lazy dignities. 

But here I stand and scoff you ! here, I fling 

Hatred and full defiance in your face ! 

Your Consul 's merciful. — For this, all thanks. 

He dares not touch a hair of Catiline ! 

" Traitor ! " I go ; but, I return. This — trial ! 
Here I devote your Senate ! I 've had wrongs 
To stir a fever in the blood of age, 
Or make the infant's sinews strong as steel. 
This day 's the birth of sorrow ! This hour's work 
Will breed proscriptions ! Look to your hearths, my Lords ' 
For there, henceforth, shall sit, for household gods, 
Shapes hot from Tartarus ! — all shames and crimes 
Wan Treachery, with his thirsty dagger drawn ; 
Suspicion, poisoning his brother's cup ; 
Naked Rebellion, with the torch and axe. 
Making his wild sport of your blazing Thrones; 
Till Anarchy comes down on you like Night, 
And Massacre seals Rome's eternal grave. 

I go ; but not to leap the gulf alone. 
I go ; but, when I come, 't will be the burst 
Of ocean in the earthquake, — rolling back 
In swift and mountainous ruin. Fare you well I 
You build my funeral-pile ; but your best blood 
Shall quench its flame ! Back, slaves! [7^ the Lictort.] I 
will return . 



12. PRIDE OF ANCESTRY. — Adaptation from Rev. George Crolp. 

My lack of noble blood ! Then that 's the bar 
Disqualifies my suit ] — makes perjury 
Of slight account against me ! I'm untitled ' 
Parchments and money-bags have precedence 
lu Cupid's Court, as elsewhere ! Sir, your daughter — • 
But I'll not stoop my free, recovered heart. 
To play the mendicant ! Farewell to love : 
Henceforth, let venerable oaths of men, 
And women's vows, though all the stara of Heaven 
Were listening, be forgotten, — light aa dust ! 



RHETOUICaL and dramatic. — CAMPBELL 183 

True, true, — I should have learnt humility : 

True, I am nothing : nothing have — but hope ' 

I have no ancient birth, — no heraldry ; — 

No motley coat is daubed upon my shield ; 

I cheat no rabble, like your charlatans, 

By flinging dead men's dust in idiots' eyes 

I work no miracles with buried hones; 

I belt no broken and distempered shape 

With shrivelled parchments plucked from mouldy shelves ; 

Yet, if I stooped to talk of ancestry, 

I had an ancestor, as old and noble 

As all their quarterings reckon, — mine was Adam 

The man who gave me being, though no Lo^d 

Was nature's nobleman, — an honest mnn ! 

And prouder *>m I, at this hour, to stand, 

Unpedestalled, but on his lowly grave, 

Than if I towered upon a monument 

High as the clouds with rotten infamy ! 



13. LOCIiaL'S WARNING. — TAomas Campbrll 

Lo.Riiel, a Highland chieftain, while on his march to join the PretenJer, is met by o-!?o of the 
Olghiind seers, or pro|)hft9, who -ania him to return, and not incur the cert-un inic 7hioh 
»wait3 tihe unfortunate prince and his followers, on the field of Culloden. 

Seer. Lochiel, Locliiel, beware of the day 
When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array I 
For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight, 
And the clans of ( Culloden are scattered in fight: 
They rally, they bleed, for their country and Crown 
Woe, woe, to the riders that trample them down ! 
Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain, 
And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain. 
But hark ! through the fast-flashing lightning of war, 
What steed to the desert flies frantic and far ? 
'Tis thine, Glenullin ! whose bride shall await. 
Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the gate. 
A steed comes at morning : no rider is there ; 
But its bridle is red with the sign of despair ' 
Weep, Albin ! to death and captivity led ! 
! ^$;,eep ! ' but thy tears cannot number the dead 
For a mei'ciless sword on Culloden shall wave — 
Culloden, that reeks with the blood of the brave ! 

Lochiel. Go preach to the coward, thou death-tellicg seer 
Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear, 
Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight, 
This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright I 

Seer. Ha ! .augh'st thou, Lochiel, my vision to sooin * 
Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn ' 
Sa'^; rushoi the bold eagle exultingly forth 



iS4 THE STANDAKD S££AKE1>. 

From Lis borne in the dark-rolling clouds of tlie North ? 
Lo ! the death-shot of foemen out-speeding, he roda 
Companiooless, bearing destruction abroad ; 
But down let him stoop from his havoc on high ' 
Ah ! home let him speed, for the spoiler is nigh. 
Why flames the far summit ? Why shoot to the bltwfi 
Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast ? 
'T is the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven 
From his eyry, that beacons the darkness of Heaven. 
0, crested Lochiel ! the peerless in might, 
Whose banners arise on the battlements' height, 
Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn ; 
Return to thy dwelling ! all lonely i*eturn ! 
For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood, 
And a wild mother scream o'er her fimiishing brood I 

Lochiel. False wizard, avaunt ! I have marshalled ray clan 
Their swords are a thousand, — their bosoms are one ! 
They are true to the last of their blood and their breath. 
And like reapers descend to the harvest of death. 
Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock ! 
I^et him dash his proud foam like a wave on the rock 
But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause. 
When Albin her claymore indignantly draws ! 
When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd, 
Clanranald the dauntless, and Moray the proud, 
All plaided and plumbed in their tartan array — 

Seer. Lochiel ! Lochiel ! beware of the day ! 
For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal, 
But man cannot cover what God would reveal. 
T is the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, 
And coming events cast their shadows before. 
I tell thee, Culloden's dread echoes shall ring 
With the bloodhounds that bark for thy fugitive King 
Lo ! anointed by Heaven with the vials of wrath, 
Behold, where he flies on his desolate path ! 
Now in darkness and billows he sweeps from my sight , 
Bise ! rise ! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight ! — 
'T is finished. Their thunders are hushed on the moora 
CuUoden is lost, and my country deplores. 
But where is the iron-bound prisoner ? Where ? 
For the red eye of battle is shut in despair. 
Say, mounts he the ocean -wave, banished, forlorn, 
Like a limb from his country cast bleeding and torn ' 
Ah ! no ; for a darker departure is near ; 
The war-drum is muifled, and black is the bier , 
His death-bell is tolling ; ! mercy, dispel 
Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell ! 
Life flutters, convulsed, m his quivering limbs 



ilHETOiaCAL AND DRAMATIC. - TAYLOE. USt 

And his blood-streamicg nostril in agony swims ! 
Accursed be the fagots that bhize at his feet, 
Where his heart shall be thrown, ere it ceases to beat, 
With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale — 

Lochiel. Down, soothless iiisulter ! I trust not the »al6 ' 
For never shall iVlbin a destiii}- meet 
So black with dishonor, so foul with retreat. 
Though my perishing ranks should be strewed in their gore 
Like ocean-weeds heaped on the surf-Ixjaten shore 
Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains, 
While the kindling of life in his bosom remains, 
Shall victor exult, or in daith be laid low, 
With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe ! 
And, leaving in battle no blot on his name, 
Look proudl}- to Heaven from the death-lxd of fame ' 



■'HILIP VAN ARTEVELDE'S DEFENCE OF HIS KEBELLION. Henry Tmlg> 

You speak of insurrections : bear in mind 
Against what rule my father and myself 
Have been insurgent ; whom did we supplant ? — 
There was a time, so ancient records tell. 
There were coinumnities, scarce known by name 
In these degenerate days, but once far-famed, 
Where liljerty and justice, hand in hand. 
Ordered the common weal ; where great men gr^w 
Up to their natural eminence, and none. 
Saving the wise, just, eloquent, were great. 
Whom may we now call free ? whom great ? whom wise ? 
Whom innocent ? — the free are only they 
Whom power makes free to execute all ills 
Their hearts im;igine ; they are only great 
Whose passions nurse their from their cradles up 
In luxury and lewdness, — whom to see 
Is to despise, who.se aspects put to scorn 
Their station's eminence ; the wise, they only 
Who wait obscurely till the bolts of Heaven ' 
Shall break upon the land, and give them light 
Whereby to walk ; the innocent, alas ! 
Poor Innocency lies where four roads meet, 
A stone ujwn her head, a stake driven through her • «> . 
For who is innocent that cares to live ? 
The hand of power doth press the very life 
Of Innocency out 

What, then, remains, 
But in the cause of nature to stand forth, 
And turn this fram^ :)f things the right side up ' 



486 THfi STANDARD SPEAKER. 

For this tke hour is come, the sword is drawn. 
And tell your masters vainly they resist. 
Nature, that slept beneath their poisonous drugs, 
Is up and stirring, and from north and south. 
From east and west, from England and from Francs. 
From Germany, and Flanders, and Navarre, 
Shall stand against them like a beast at bay. 
The blood that they have shed will hide no longer 
In the blood-sloken soil, but cries to Heaven. 
Their cruelties and wrongs against the poor 
Shall quicken into swarms of venomous snakes. 
And hiss through all the earth, till o'er the earth, 
That ceases then from hissings and from groans, 
Rises the song — How are the mighty fallen ! 
And by the peasant's hand ! Low lie the proud ! 
And smitten with the weapons of the poor — 
The blacksmith's hammer and the woodman's ase ! 
Their tale is told ; and for that they were rich, 
And robbed the poor ; and for that they were strong, 
And scourged the weak ; and for that they made laws 
Which turned the sweat of labor's brow to blood, — 
For these their sins the nations cast them out.! 

These things come to pass 
From small beginnings, because God is just. 



ia DUT-i TO ONE'S COUNTRY. — ^a«wa/i 3Iore. Born, 1744; (bid i^ 

Our country is a whole, my Publius, 
Of which we all are parts ; nor should a citizen 
Hegard his interests as distinct from hers ; 
No hopes or fears should touch his patriot soul, 
liut what affect her honor or her shame. 
E'en when in hostile fields he bleeds to save her, 
'T is not his blood he loses, 't is his country's ; 
He only pays her ba .K a debt he owes. 
To her he 's bound for birth and education ; 
Her laws secure him from domestic feuds. 
And from the foreign foe her arms protect him. 
She lends him honors, dignity, and rank. 
His wrongs revenges, and his merit pays ; 
And, like a tender and indulgent mother, 
Loads him with comforts, and would make his stat* 
As blessed as nature and the god^ designed it. 
Such gifts, my son, have their alloy of pain, 
And let the unworthy wretch, who will not bear 
His portion of the public burthen, lose 
The advantages it yields ; — let him retire 
From tne dear blessings of a social life 



BHETOBICAL AND URAM-JBC. - - KN0WLE3. 487 

And from the sacred laws which guard those blessings. 

Renounce the civilized abodes of man, 

With kindred brutes one common shelter seek 

In horrid wilds, and dens, and dreary caves, 

And with their shaggy tenants share the spoil ; 

Or, if the shaggy hunters miss their prey, 

From scattered acorns pick a scanty meaJ ; — 

Far from the sweet civilities of life, 

There let him live, and vaunt his wretched freedcm, 

While we, obedient to the laws that guard us, 

Guard them, and live or die, as they decree. 



16. ST. PIERRE TO FERRARDO. — ^amex Sheridan Knowles. 

8t. Pierre, having possessed himself of Ferrardo's dagger, compels him to sign a acofessioK 
hHa hia own lips, of his villany. 

Know you me, Duke ? Know you the peasant boy, 
Whom, fifteen years ago, in evil hour. 
You chanced to cross upon his native hills, — 
In whase 'quick eye you saw the subtle spirit. 
Which suited you, and tempted it ? He took 
Your hint, and followed you to Mantua 
Without his father's knowledge, — his old father, 
Who, thinking that he had a prop in him 
Man could not rob him of, and Heaven would sparo, 
Blessed him one night, ere he lay down to sleep, 
And, waking in the morning, found him gone ! 

\Ferrardo tries to r%M 
Move not, or I shall move ! You know me. 
0, yes ! you trained me like a cavalier, — 
You did, indeed ! You gave me masters, Duke, 
And their instructions quickly I took up, 
As they did lay them down ! I got the start 
Of my cotemporaries ! — not a youth 
Of whom could read, write, speak, command a weapop 
Or rule a horse, with me ! You gave me all, — 
All the equipments of a man of honor, — 
But you did find a use for me, and made 
A slave, a profligate, a pander, of me ! [Fcrrardr tstng, 

I charge you keep your seat ! — 
Ten thousand ducats ? 

What Duke ! Is such your offer ? Give me, Dukei- 
The eyes that looked upon my father's face. 
The hands that helped my father to his wish, 
The feet that fl*^w to do my father's will. 
The heait that bounded at my father's voice, — • 
And say that Mantua were built of ducats. 
And I coidd be its Duke at cost of these 



4J^ THE STANDARD SPEAKEB 

I would not give them for it ! Mark me, Duke ; 

I saw a new-made grave in Mantua, 

And on the head-stone read my father' s name ' — • 

To seek me, doubtless, hither he had come, — 

To seek the child that had deserted him, — 

And died here, ere he found me. 

Heaven can tell how far he wandered else ! 

Upon that grave I knelt an altered man, 

And, rising thence, I fled from Mantua ; — nor nad returned 

But tyrant hunger drove me back again 

To thee — to thee ! — my body to relieve. 

At cost of my dear soul ! I have done thy work, — 

Do mine ! and sign me that confession straight. 

I 'm in thy power, and I '11 have thee in mine ! 

There is the dial, and the sun shines on it, — 

The shadow on the very point of twelve, — 

My case is desperate ! Your signature 

Of vital moment is unto my peace ! 

My eye is on the dial ! Pass the shadow 

The point of noon, the breadth of but a hair, 

As can my eye discern — and, that unsigned, 

The steel is in thy heart ! — I speak no more ! 



17 WILLIAM TELL ON SWrrZEHhAnj). — Adaptation from J. S Km* « 

Once Switzerland was free ! With what a pride 
I used to walk these hills, — look up to Heaven, 
And bless G od that it was so ! It was free 
From end to end, from cliff to lake 't was free ! 
Free as our torrents are, that leap our rocks, 
And plough our valleys, without asking leave ; 
Or as our peaks, that wear their caps of snow 
In very presence of the regal sun ! 
How happy was I in it, then ! I loved 
Its very storms. Ay, often have I sat 
In my boat at night, when midway o'er the lake, 
The stars went out, and down the mountain gorge 
The wind came roaring, — I have sat and eyed 
The thunder breaking from his cloud, and smiled 
To see him shake his lightnings o'er my head, 
And think I had no master save his own. 

You know the jutting cliff, round which a track 
Up hither winds, whose base is but the brow 
To such another one, with scanty room 
For two a-breast to pass ? O'ertaken there 
By the mountain blast, I 've laid me flat along 
And while gust followed gust more furiously, 
\s if to sweep me o'ei the horrid bruik. 



RHETORICAL AND DRAMATIC, — BRnEYS. 4Si> 

And I have thought of other lands, whose storms 

Are summer flaws to those of mine, and just 

Have wished me there; — the thought that mine was free 

Has cheeked that wish, and I have raised my head. 

And cried in thraldom to that furious wind, 

Blow on ! This is the land of liberty ! 



15. WILLIAM TELL AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. — /. 5. Knowlet 

Ye crags and peaks, I 'm with you once again ! 
I hold to you the hands you first beheld, 
To show they still are free. Mcthinks I hear 
A spirit in your echoes answer me. 
And bid your tenant welcome to his home 
Again ! — sacred forms, how proud you look ! 
How high you lift your heads into the sky ! 
How huge you are ! how mighty, and how free ! 
Ye are the things that tower, that shine, — whose smile 
Makes glad, whose frown is terrible, whose forms, 
Robed or unrobed, do all the inipress wear 
Of awe divine. Ye guards of liL-erty, 
I 'm witli you once again I — I call to you 
With all my voice ! — I hold my hands to you, 
To show they still are free. I x'ush to you 
As though I could embrace you ! 

Scaling yonder peak, 

I saw an eagle wheeling near its brow 

O'er the abyss : — his broad-expanded wings 

Lay calm and motionless upon the air. 

As' if he floated there without their aid, 

By the sole act of his unlorded will. 

That buoyed him proudly up. Instinctively 

I bent my bow ; yet kept he rounding still 

His airy circle, as in the delight 

Of measuring the ample range beneath 

And round about ; absorbed, he heeded not 

The death that threatened him. I could not shoot — 

'T w;xs liberty ! — I turned my bow aside, 

And let him soar away ! 



19. the fractious man. — Original Translation from Brueys, 

Monsieur Grichard. Blockhead ! "Would you keep me knocking 
two hours at the door ? 

Lolive, I was at work. Sir, in the garden. At the first sound of 
the knocker, I ran to answer it with such haste, as to fall down on 
the way. 

M. Gri. A great pity it was you did n't break your neck, booby 
Why did n't you l<^ave the door open ? 



490 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

LoL Why, Sir, you scolded me, yesterday, because 1 did so Whec 
ft is open, you storm about it. When it is shut, you storm about it just 
the same. I should like to know what to do. 

31. Ch'i. What to do, sirrah ? What to do, did you say ? 

Lol. 0, come now, master, how would you have it ? Do you srisii 
me to leave the door open ? 

M. Gri. No. 

Lol. Do you wish me to keep it shut ? 

M. Ch-i. No! 

Lol. But, Sir, it must be either open or — 

M. Gri. What, rascal, what ! Do you presume to argue th« 
point ? 

Lol. But does n't it hold to reason — 

M. Gi'i. Silence! 

Lol. I say, Sir, that a door must be either open or shut. Now, 
how will you have it ? 

M. Gi'i. I have told you, a thousand times, you scoundi* I, — I 
have told you, I wished it — wished it — but confound your impu- 
dence. Sir ! Is it for you to ask questions ? Let me only lay handa 
on you, I '11 show you how I wish it ! Have you swept the stair- 
case ? 

Lol. Yes, Sir, from top to bottom. 

M. Gri. And the yard ? 

I-joI. If you find a bit of dirt there big as a filbert, I 'U forfeit my 
wages. 

M. Gri. You have n't watered the mule ? 

Lol. Ask the neighbors, wlio saw me pass, if I have n't. 

M. Gri. Have you given him his oats ? 

Lol. Yes, Sir. Ask William if I have n't. He saw me do it. 

M. Gri. But you have n't taken those bottles of Peruvian bark 
where I ordered you ? 

Lol. Pardon me. Sir ; I took them, and brought back the empt\ 
bottles. 

M. Gri. And my letters? Did you take them to the Post 
Office ? Hah ? 

Lol. Did n't I, tliough ? I took good care to do that ! 

M. Gri. You villain, you ! A hundred times I have forbidden 
you to scrape your infernal violin. Now, I heard you, this morn- 

ing— . . 

Lol This morning ? Don't you remember you smashed it all tti 
piecen tbr me, yesterlay ? 

M Gri. Humph ! I '11 lay a wager that those two cords of 
wood — 

Lol. The wood is all sawed, split, and housed, Sir ; and emce put- 
ting it in, I have helped William get a load of hay into the barn, I 
have watered all the trees in the garden, dug over three of the bedst 
ted was digging another when you knocked. 



RHKTORICAL AND DRAMATIC. — TOWN. 4J)1 

M. Gri. 0, I must get rid of tliia fellow ! Wjus there evex such 
a provoking scamp ? He will kill me with vexation. Away with 
70U, Sir ! Out of my sight ! 



ao CAITHAZAR AND THE QUACK. -yo/m Toim. Born, 1V70 ; dierf, 1804. 

Balthazar. And now, thou sketch and outline of a man ' 
Thou thing, that hast no shadow in the sur ' 
Thou eel in a consumption, eldest born 
Of Death on Famine ! thou anatomy 
Of a starved pilchard ! — 

Quack. I do confess my leanness. I am spare, 
And therefore spare me ! Man, you know, must live' 

JBalt. Yes ; he must die, too. 

Quack. For my patients' sake ' 

Bah. I '11 send you to the major part of them. 
The window, Sir, is open ; — come, prepare. 

Quack. Pray, consider. Sir, 
I may hurt some one in the street. 

Bah. Why, then, 
I '11 rattle thee to pieces in a dice-box. 
Or grind thee in a coifec-iuill to powder : 
For thou rsust sup with Pluto ; — so, make ready ! 
Whilst I, wiih tliis good suiall-sword for a lancet. 
Let thy starved spirit out, — for blood thou hast none, - 
And nail thee to the wall, where thou shult look 
Like a dried beetle with a pin stuck through him. 

Quack. Coriijider my poor wife ! 

Bah. Thy wife ! 

Quark. My wife. Sir. 

Bah. Hast thou dared to think of matrimony, too ? 
No conscience, and take a wife! 

Quack. I have a wife, and three angelic bates, 
Who, by tho.se looks, are well-nigh fatherless ! 

Bah. Wall, well, your wife and children shall plead for jou 
Come, come, the pills ! where are the pills ? produce them 

Quack. Here is the box. 

Bah. Were it Pandora's, and each single pill 
Had ten diseases in it, you should take them. 

Quack. What, all ? 

Bah. Ay, all ; and quickly, too; — come, Sir, begm 
That 's well ; — another. 

Quack. One 's a dose ! 

Bah. Proceed, Sir. 

Quack. What will become of me ? 
I do beseech you let me have some drink, 
Some coolin^^ liquid Sir, to wash them do-wn ' 



492 THE STANDARD SPEAKEi. 

Bait. 0, yes — produce the vial ! 

Quack. Mercy on me ' 

Bait. Come, Sir, your new invented patent draught 
Fou 've tried it on a dog ; so there 's no danger. 

Quack. If you have any mercy think of me ' 

Bait. Nay, no demur ! 

Quack. May I entreat to make my will first ? 

Bait. No ; you have naught but physic to bequeath 
And that no one will take, though you should leave it. 

Quack. Just to step home, and see my wife and chilir 

Bait. No, Sir. 

Quack. Let me go home and set my shop to rightd, 
And, like immortal Caesar, die with decency ! 

Bait. Away, and thank thy lucky star I have not 
Brayed thee in thine own mortar, or exposed thee 
For a large specimen of the lizard genus. 

Quack. Would I ivere one ! for they can feed on air. 

Bali. Home, Sir, and be more honest ! [Exit.l 

Quack. If I am not, 
I '11 be more wise, at least ! [Bxit.] 



21. BRUTUS AND TITVS.— Nathaniel Lee. 

There are some noble touches in the following dialogue, from Lee's tragedy of "Luciiu 
Junius Brutus," although from the pen of a poet vrho mingled the extravagance of a madman 
Bith the inspirations of genius. Lee was born in Hertfordshire, England, in 1651, and died in 
1692. He was for some time confined in a mad-house, being for nearly four years a raTing 
aiajijac. 



Well, Titus, speak ; how is it with thee now ? 

I would attend a while this mighty motion, 

Wait till the tempest were quite overblown, 

That I might take thee in the calm of nature, 

With all thy gentler virtues brooding on thee : 

So hushed a stillness, as if all the gods 

Looked down and listened to what we were saying : 

Speak, then, and tell me, my best beloved, 

My son, my Titus ! is all well again? 

Titus. So well, that saying how must make it nothing . 

So well, that I could wish to die this moment. 

For so my heart, with powerful throbs, persuades me 

That were indeed to make you reparation ; 

That were, my Lord, to thank you home — to die ' 

And that, for Titus, too, would be most happy. 

Brutus. How 's that, my son ? would death for thee ba happy 
Titus. Most certain, Sir; for in my grave I 'scape 

All those affronts which I, in life, must look for ; 

All those reproaches which the eyes, the fingers, 

And tongues of Rome, will daily cast upon me , 

5'rom whom,, to a soul so sensible as mine. 



RHETORICAL AND DRA VIATIC - - LES^ lifi 

Each single scorn would be far worse than dying. 
Besides, I 'scape the stings of m}-^ own conscience, 
Which will forever rack me with remembrance, 
Haunt me by day, and torture me by night, 
Casting my blotted honor in the way, 
Where'er my melancholy thoughts shall guide me. 

Brutus. But, is not death a very dreadful thing? 

Titus. Not to a mind revsolved. No, Sir ; to me 
It seems as natural as to be born. 
Groans and convulsions, and discolored faces, 
Friends weeping round us, crapes, and obsequies. 
Make it a dreadful thing ; the pomp of death 
Is far more terrible than death itself 
Yes, Sir ; I call the powers of Heaven to witness, 
Titus dares die, if so you have decreed ; 
Nay, he shall die with joy to honor Brutus. 

Brutus. Thou perfect glory of the Junian race ! 
Let me endear thee once more to my bosom, 
G roan an eternal farewell to thy soul ; 
Instead of tears, weep blood, if possible ; — 
Blood, the heart-blood of Brutus, on his child ' 
For thou must die, my Titus ; die, my son ! 
I swear, the gods have doomed thee to the grave. 
The violated genius of thy country 
Bares his sad head, and passes sentence on thee. 
This morning sun, that lights thy sorrows on 
To the tribunal of this horrid vengeance, 
Shall never see thee more ! 

Titus. Alas! my Lord, 

Why art thou moved thus? Why am I worth thy scrrow' 
Why should the godlike Brutus shake to doom me ? 
Why all these trappings for a traitor's hearse ? 
The gods will have it so, 

Brutus. They will, my Titu3 ; 

Nor Heaven nor earth can have it otherwise 
Nay, Titus, mark ! the deeper that I search, 
My harassed soul returns the more confirmed. 
Methinks I see the very hand of Jove 
Moving the dreadfiil wheels of this affair, — 
Like a machine, they whirl thee to thy fate. 
It seems as if the gods had preordained it, 
To fix the reeling spirits of the People, 
And settle the loose liberty of Rome. 
'T is fixed ; 0, therefore, lot not fancy dupe thee! 
So fixed thy death, that 't is not in the power 
\n gods or men to save thee from the axe. 

Titus. The axe! 0, Heaven ! must I, then, fall so basely' 
What ! Chall I perish by the common hangman ? 



t9;l THE STANDARD gPEAKEK. 

Brutus. If thou deny me this, thou giv'st me nothins. 
Yes, Titus, since the gods have so decreed 
That I must lose thee, I will take the advantage 
Of thy important fate ; cement Rome's flaws, 
And heal her wounded freedom with thy blood. 
I will ascend myself the sad tribunal. 
And sit upon my son — on thee, my Titus : 
Behold thee sufier all the shame of death, 
The lictor's lashes, bleed before the people ; 
Then, with thy hopes and all thy youth upon thee, 
See thy head taken by the common axe. 
Without a groan, without one pitying tear 
(If that the gods can hold me to my purpose), 
To make my justice quite transcend example. 

Titus, Scourged like a bonduian ! Ha ! a beaten slave ' 
But I deserve it all ; yet, here I fail ; 
The image of this suffering quite unmans me. 
0, Sir ! 0, Brutus ! must 1 call you father, 
Yet have no token of your tenderness ? 
No sign of mercy ? What ! not bate me that ? 
Can you resolve on all the extremity 
Of cruel rigor ? To behold me, too ; 
To sit, unmoved, and see me whipped to death ! 
Is this a father ? 

Ah, Sir, why should you make my heart suspect 
That all your late compassion was dissembled ? 
How can I think that you did ever love me ? 

Brutus. Think that I love thee, by my present passion 
By these unniarily tears, these earthquakes here ; 
These sighs, that twitch the very strings of life ; 
Think that no other cause on earth could move me 
To tremble thus, to sob, or shed a tear. 
Nor shake my solid virtue from her point, 
But Titus' death. 0, do not call it shamefiil 
That thus shall fix the glory of the world. 
I own thy suffering ought to unman me thus, 
To make me throw my body on the ground, 
To bellow like a beast, to gnaw the earth, 
To tear my hair, to curse the cruel fates 
That force a father thus to kill his child ! 

Titus. 0, rise, thou violated majesty ! 
I now submit to all your threatened vengeance. 
Come forth, ye executioners of justice ! 
Nay, all ye lictors, slaves, and common hangmen, 
Come, strip me bare, unrobe me in his sight, 
And lash me till I bleed ! Whip me, like furies • 
And when you Ve scourged me till I foam and faU, 



KHCTailCAL AND DRAMjIIC. SUAKSl'EAR* 

For want of spirits, grovelling in the dust, 
Than, take my head, and give it to his juistice i ■ 
By all the gods, I greedily resign it ! 



49i 



-ATO'S SOLILOQUY ON IMMORTALITY. — Jrfi/ison. Bom, 167S . *'«<, ttlft 

It must be so. — Plato, thou reasonest well 
Else whence this pleasing hope, this foud desire, 
This longing after inimoi'tality ? 
Or whence tliis secret dread, and inward horror, 
Of falling into naught ? Why shrinks the sou] 
Back on herself, and startles at destruction ? 
'T is the divinity that stirs within us, 
'T is Heaven itself, that points out an hereafter. 
And intimates eternity to man. 

Eternity ! — thou pleasing, dreadful thought ! 
Through what variety of untried being, 
Through what new scenes and changes nmst we pass ! 
The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me ; 
But shadows, clouds and darkness, rest upon it. 
Here will I hold. If thei'e 's a Power above us, — 
And that there is, all Nature cries aloud 
Through all her works, — He must delight in virtue • 
And that which He delights in must be happy. 
But when ? or whore ? This world was made for Cassar, 
I 'm weary of conjectures, — this must end 'em. 

Thus am I doubly armed. My death and life. 
My bane and antidote, are both before me. 
This * in a moment brings me to my end ; 
But this t informs me I shall never die. 
The soul, secure in her existence, smiles 
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point. 
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself 
Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in yeai-s. 
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth. 
Unhurt ainid the war of elements. 
The wreck of matter, aud the crush of worlds. 



23. QUARREL OF BRLTUS AND CASSIUS.—Shakspeare. 

Cassius. That you have wronged me, doth appear in thifl 

Yon have condemned and noted Lucius Pella, 

For taking bribes here of the Sardians ; 

Wherein my letters (praying on his side, 

Because I knew the maii) were slighted off. 

Bruhts. You wronged yourself to write in sucn a case 
Cas. At such a time as this, it is not meet 

That evtry nice offence should be?r its comment. 
• The dagger. f Plato's Treatise 



THE STANDARD SPKaKKR 

Bru. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself 
A.re much condemned to have an itching palm ■ 
To sell and mart your offices for gold, 
To rndeservers. 

Cos. I an itching palm ? 
You know that you are Bi'utus that speak this. 
Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last ! 

Bru. The name of Cassius honors this corruption 
And chastisement doth therefore hide his head 

Cas. Chastisement! 

Bru. Remember March, the Ides of March remember 
Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake ? 
What villain touched his body, that did stab. 
And not for justice ? — What ! shall one of us, 
That struck the foremost man of all this world, 
But for supporting robbers, — shall we now 
Contaminate our fingers with base bribes. 
And sell the mighty space of our large honors 
For so much trash as may be grasped thus ? — 
I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon. 
Than such a Roman ! 

Cas. Brutus, bay not me ! 
I '11 not endure it. You forget yourself, 
To hedge me in : I am a soldier, I, 
Older in practice, abler than yourself 
To make conditions. 

Bru. Go to ! you are not, Cassius. 

Cas. I am. 

Br2i. I say you are not ! 

Cas. Urge me no more : I shall forget myself. 
Have mind upon your health; tempt me no further! 

Bru. Away, slight man ! 

Cas. Is 't possible ? 

Bru. Hear me, for I will speak. 
Must I give way and room to your rash choler ' 
Shall I be frighted when a madman stares ? 

Cas. Must I endure all this ? 

Bru. All this ? ay, more ! Fret till your proud hea/t break 
GrO, show your slaves how choleric you are. 
And make your bondmen tremble ! Must I budge ? 
Must I observe you ? Must I stand and crouch 
Under your testy humor ? 
You shall digest the venom of your spleen. 
Though it do split you ; for, from this day forth, 
I '11 use you for my mirth, — yea, for my laughter, 
When you arc waspish ! 

Cas. Is it come to this * 



RHETOKICAL AND DRAMATIC. — SHAKSPEAKE. 497 

i»; u. You say you are a better ioldier : 
Let it appear so ; make your vaunt'ug true, 
And it shall please ine well. For niiiic own part, 
I shall he glad to learn of noble men. 

Cas. You wrong me every way, you wrong me, Brutna 
I said, an elder soldier, not a better. 
I»-d I say better ? 

Bru. If you did, I care not ! 

Cas. When"C;v3sar lived, he durst not thus have mijved me 

Bru. Peace, peace : you durst not so have tempted him • 

Cas. I durst not ? 

Bru. No. 

Cas. What ? durst not tempt him ? 

Bru. For your life, you durst not ' 

Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love 
I may do that I shall be sorry for. 

Bru. You have done that you should be sorry for. 
There is no terror, Oassius. in your threats ; 
For I am armed so strong in honesty, 
That they pass by me as the idle wind, 
Which I respect not. I di'l send to you 
For certain sums of gold, vthich you denied me ; — 
For I can raise no money by vile means : 
Ey Heuven, I had rather coin my heart, 
x\nd drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring 
From the hard hands of peasants thfiir vile trash 
By any indirection ! I did send 
To you for gold to pay my legions. 
Which you denied me. Was that done like Casfiius ? 
Should I have answered Caius Cassius so ? 
When jMarcus Brutus grows so covetous. 
To lock such rascal counters from his friends, 
Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts. 
Dash him to pieces ! 

Cas. I denied you not. 

Br7i. You did. 

Cas. I did not : — he was but a fool 
That brought my answer back. — Brutus hatb rived my hear^ 
A friend should bear his friend's infirmities, 
But Brutus makes mine greater than they arc, 

Bru. I do not, till you practise them on me. 

Cas. You love me not. 

Br7i. I do not like your faults. 

Cas. A friendly eye could never see such faults. 

Br7t. A flatterer's would not, though they do appear 
Ad huge as high Olympus. 

Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come! 
ItevengQ yourselves alone on Cassius, 



498 THU STANDARD SPEAKER. 

For Cassius is aweary of the world • 

Hated bj one he loves ; braved by his brother , 

Checked like a bondman ; all his faults observtsi, 

Set in a note-book, learned and conned by rote, 

To cast into my teeth. 0, I could weep 

My spirit from mine eyes ! — There is my dagger; 

And here my naked breast ; within a heart 

Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold i 

If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth ; 

1, that denied thee gold, will give my heart 

Strike as thou didst at Ga3sar ; for I know, 

When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him bettei 

Than ever thou lovedst Cassius I 

Bru. Sheathe your dagger : 
Be angry when you will, it shall have scope ; 
Do what you will, dishonor shall be humor. 
O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb, 
That carries anger as the flint bears fire : 
Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark. 
And straight is cold again. 

Cas. Hath Cassius lived 
To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, 
When grief and blood ill-tempered vexeth him ? 

Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill-tempered, too. 

Cas. Do you confess so much ^ Give me your hand 

Bnc. And my heart, too. 

Cas. Brutus ! — 

Bm. What 's the matter ? 

Cas. Have you not love enough to bear with mc, 
When that rash humor which my mother gave me 
Makes me forgetful ? 

B?-u. Yes, Caasius ; and from henceforth, 
When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, 
He '11 think your mother chides, and leave you so. 



24. REGRETS OP DRUNKENNESS. — SAoAs/Jeore. 

lagc What ! be you hurt, Lieutenant ? 

Ca^sio. Past all surgery ! 

lago. Marry, Heaven forbid ! 

Cassio. Reputation ! reputation ! reputation ! 0, I have ^ost mj 
reputation! I have lost the immortal part of myself; and what 
remains is bestial. My reputation, lago, my reputiition ! 

lago. As I am an honest man, I thought you had received some 
bodily wound : there is more offence in that than in reputation. Repu- 
tation is an idle and most false imposition ; oft got without merit, and 
lost without deserving. What, man ! There are ways to recover the 
General again. Sue to him, and he is yours. 



KHETOIlICiL AXD DllAMATIC. — SnAKSPEARB. 1J>S 

Cussio. I will rather suo tc be despised than to deceive so gCK)d a 
jommaiider with so light, so drunken, and so indiscree*- an officer 
Drunk ? and speak parrot ? and squabble ? swagger ? swear ? and 
discourse fustian with one's own shadow? — 0, thou invisible spirii 
of wine ! if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee — 
Devil. 

Tago. What was he that you followed with j-our sword ? what had 
be done to you ? 

Cassio. I know not. 

lago. Is it possible ? 

Cassiu. I remember a mass of things, but nothing distinctly; a 
quarrel, but nothing wherefore. 0, that men should put an enenjy 
in their mouths to steal away their brains ! that we should with joy 
pleasure, revel, and applause, transform ourselves into beasts ! 

Tago. Why, but you are now well enough : how came you thus 
recovered ? 

Cassio. It has pleased the devil Drunkenness to give place to the 
devil Wrath : one imperfection shows me another, to make me frankly 
despise myself 

lago. Come : you are too severe a moraler. As the time, the place, 
and the condition of this country stands, I could heartily wish this had 
not befillen ; but since it is as it is, mend it, for your own good. 

Cassio. I will ask him for my place again ; he shall tell me I am a 
drunkard ! Had I as many mouths as Hydra, such an answer would stop 
them all. To be now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and presently 
a beast ! 0, strange ! — Every inordinate cup is unblessed, and the 
ingredient is a devil. 

lago. Come, come ! good wine is a good familiar creature, if it be 
well used ; exclaim no more against it ; — and, good Lieutenant, I 
think you think I love you ? 

Cassio. I have well approved it. Sir : — I drunk ! 

lago. You, or any man living, may be drunk some time, man ! I '11 
tell you what you shall do. Our General's wife is now the General ; 
confess yourself freely to her : importune her ; she '11 help to put 
you in your place again. She is of so free, so kind, so apt, so blessed 
a disposition, she holds it a vice in her goodness not to do more 
than she is requested. This broken joint between you and her hus- 
band entreat her to splinter; and, my fortunes against any lay 
worth naming, this crack of your love shall grow stronger than it 
was before. 

Cassio. You advise me well. 

l2go, I protest, in the sincerity of love and honest kindness, 

Cassio. I think it freely; and, betimes in the morning, I will 
beseech the virtuous Desdemona to undertake tor me. 

lago. You are in the right. Good-night, Lieu*-enant. I must t« 
watch. 

Cassio. Good-night, none,st lago 



500 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

16. BFET.Cn OF CASSIUS, INSTIGATING BRUTUS TO JOIN J HE CONSIIBAOT 

4GAINST CJESATA..— S/iakupeare. 

Well, honor is the subject of my story. 
I cannot teil what you, and other men, 
Think of this life ; but, for my single self. 
I had as lief not be, as live to be 
In awe of such a thing as I myself. 
I was born free as Ct^sar ; so were you ; 
We both have fed as well ; and we can both 
Endure the winter's cold as well as he ; 
For once, upon a raw and gusty day, 
The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores, 
Gaisar said to me, " Dar'st thou, Cassius, now, 
Leap in with me into this angry flood, 
And swim to yonder point ? " Upon the word, 
Accoutred as I was, I plunged in. 
And bade him follow ; so, indeed, he did. 
The torrent roared ; and we did buifet it 
With lusty sinews ; throwing it aside, 
And stemming it with hearts of controversy. 
But, ere we could arrive the point proposed, 
Caesar cried, Help me, Cassius, or I sink ! 
I, as ^neas, our gi"eat ancestor. 
Did, from the flames of Troy, upon his shoulder, 
The old Anchises bear, so, from the waves of Tiber, 
Did I the tired Caesar : and this man 
Is now become a god ; and Cassius is 
A wretched creature, and must bend his body, 
If Caesar carelessly but nod on him. 
He had a fever when he was in Spain, 
And, when the fit was on him, I did mark 
How he did shake : 't is true, this god did shake : 
His coward lips did from their color fly ; 
And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the world, 
Did lose its lustre : I did hear him groan : 
Ay, and that tong-ue of his, that bade the Romans 
Mark him, and write his speeches in their books, 
Alas ! it cried. Give me some drink, Titinitis, 
As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me, 
A man of such a feeble temper should 
So get the start of the majestic world, 
And bear the palm alone ! 
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, 
But in ourselves, that we are underlings. 
Brutus and Caesar ; what should be in that Caesar ' 
Why should that name be sounded more than youra 
Write them together, yours is as fair a name ; 
**ound them, it doth become the mouth as well • 



KHETOEICAL ANt DRAMATIC. — SIIAKSPEARK. ^01 

Weigh thein, it is as heavy ; conjure with them, 

Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Ciesar. 

Now, in the names of all the gods at once, 

Upon what mciit doth this oui' Ca;sar feed 

That he is grown so groat ? Age, thou art shamed , 

Kouie, thou hast lost the breed of noVjlc bloods I 

When went there by an age, since the great flood, 

But it was famed with more than with one man ? 

When could they say, till now, that talked of Rome. 

That her wide walls encompr^ssed but one man ? 

! you and I have hsard our fathers say 

There was a Brutus, once, that nould have brooked 

The eternal devii to 'o;p hid state in Rome, 

As easily as a kii « , 



lAADINAL WOLSEY, ON BEING CAST Oi'F BY KING HENRY \m -t 

Nay, then, farewell, ' 
I have touched the highest point of all my greatness , 
And, from that full meridian of my glory, 
I haste now to my setting : I shall fall 
Like a bright exhalation in the evening, 
And no man see me more. 
So farewell to the little good you bear me. 
Farewell, a long farewciU, to all my greatness ! 
This is the state of man : to-day he puts forth 
The tender leaves of hope ; to-morrow, blossoms, 
And bears his blushing honors thick upon him : 
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost ; 
And, when he thinks, — good, easy man, — full surelj 
His greatness is a ripening, nips his root. 
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured, 
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, 
These many summers in a sea of glory ; 
But far beyond my depth : ray high-blown pride 
At length broke under me ; and now has left me, 
Weary and old with service, to the mercy 
Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me. 

Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hato ye ', 
I feel my heart new opened. 0, how wretched 
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors ! 
There is, betwixt that smile he would aspire to, 
That sweet aspect of princes, and his ruin, 
More pangs and fears than wars or women ha^e. 
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, 
Never to hope agas'n ! 

Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear 
In all mv misej-iea : but thou hast forced me 



fiOS THI STANDARD SfEAKER. 

Out of thy hones+ truth, to play the woman. 

liet 's dry our eyes : and thus far hear me, Cromwell ', 

And, when I am forgotten, as I shall be. 

And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention 

Of me must more be heard, — say, then, I taught thee,-' 

Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory, 

And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor 

Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in ; 

A sure and safe one, though thy master missed it. — 

Mark but niy fall, and that which ruined me ! 

Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition ! 

By that sin fell the angels ; how can man, then, 

The image of his Maker, hope to win by 't ? 

Love thyself last ; cherish those hearts that hate thee, — 

Corruption wins not more than honesty ; 

Still in thy right hand carry geiltle peace, 

To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not, 

Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, 

Thy God's, and truth's : then, if thou fall'st, Cromwell, 

Thou fall'st a blessed martyr ! Serve the King ; 

And, Prithee, lead me in : 

There, take an inventory of all I have, 

To the last penny ; 't is the King's ; my robe, 

iVnd my integrity to Heaven, is all 

I dare now call mine own. 0, Cromwell, Cromwell ! 

Had I but served my God with half the zeal 

I served my King^ He would not, in mine age. 

Have left me naked to mine enemies ! 



27 HAMLET'S INSTRUCTION TO THE VLAY^US. — Shakspears. 

Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trip 
pingly on the tongue ; but, if you mouth it, as many of our playera 
cx>, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor, do not saw the 
£ir too much with your hand, ohus : but use all gently; for, in the 
very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, whirlwind of your passion, 
you must acquire and beget a temperance that may aive it smoothness. 
! it offends me to the soul, to hear a robustious, periwig-pated fellow, 
tear a passion to tatters, — to very rags, — to split the (ars of the 
groundlings; Avho, for the most part, are capable of nothing but 
inexplicable dumb show and noise. I would have such a fellow 
whipped for o'erdoing Termagant ; it out-Herods Herod. Pray you 
avoid it. 

Be not too tame, neither, but let your own discretion be your tutor, 
suit the action to the word, the word to the action ; with this special 
observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature ; for any- 
thing so overdone is from the purpose of playing, — whose end, both at 
the first and now, was and is, to hold, as 't were, the mirror up w 



RHETORICAL A\D DR^VMATIC. — SHAKSI'EARE. 503 

Nature ; to show virtue her own feature ; scorn, her own image; and 
the very age and body of the time, his forsn and pressure. Now, thia 
overdone, or come tardy oflf, though it make the unskihul laugh, can 
not but make the judicious grieve ; the censure of which one must, in 
your allowance, o'erweigh a whole theatre of others. ! there be 
players that I have seen play, — and heard othei-s praise and that 
highly, — not to speak it profanely, that, neither having the accent cf 
Christians, nor the gait of Christian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted 
and bellowed, that I have thought some of Nature's journeymen had 
made men, aud not made men icell, they imitated humanity so abom- 
inably ! 

28. HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY ON HZklli. — Shakrpeare. 

To be — or not to be — that is the question ! 
Whether 't is nobler in the mind to sniffer 
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, — 
Or, to take arms against a sea of troubles. 
And, by opposing, end them. — To die, — to sleep; — 
No more ; — and, by a sleep, to say we end 
The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks 
That flesh is heir to ; — 't is a consummation 
Devoutly to be wished I To die ; — to sleep ; — 
To sleep ? perchance to dream ; — ay, there 's the rab 
For, in that sleep of death, what dreams may come, 
"When we have shuffled ofi" this mortal coil, 
Must give us pause ! There 's tlie respect 
That makes calamity of so long life : 
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, 
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumelj, 
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, 
The insolence of office, and the spurns 
That patient merit of the unworthy takes, 
When he himself might his quietus make 
With a bare bodkin ? 

Who would fardels bear. 
To groan and sweat under a weary life ; 
But that the dread of something after death, - 
The undiscovered country, from whose bourn 
No traveller returns, — puzzles the will ; 
And makes us rather bear those ills we have. 
Than fly to others that we know not of? 

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all 
And thus the native hue of resolution 
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought; 
And enterprises of great pith and moment, 
With this regard, their current^s turn awry, 
Aud lose the name of action. 



504 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

a& NOT A3HA;«IED of his 0CCJJPAT101'{. — original adaptation /lom MoUoh. 

Jasper. Now, there 's a nice looking young man for a weddini 
party ! 

Siephe?i. Ah, dad ! How are you, dad ? 

Jos. Not dressed yet ? What are you thinking of, you idle dog ? 

Ste. Idle ! Excuse me, dad ; I was at work afore daylight. 

Jas. Work ; daylight ! what have you to do with daylight., such 
a day as this ^ l)on't you know that Lady Leiitherbridge, and her 
niece, Jjady Valeria, will be here presently ? Go to that glass, Sir ' 
gaze upon that coat, waistcoat and trousers, including boots, and then 
tell me, is that figure Stephen Plum, or a common cotton-spinner, out 
of the hundreds in his employ ? 

Ste. Well, and what 's Stephen Plum, after all 's said and done, 
but a common spinner, too ? A common spinner growed rich, like hia 
father before him ? Was n't his father, — bless the old face of him ! — 
was n't he a common spinner, too ? No, he was n't ; Jasper Plum 
was no common spinner ; he was one in a thousand, he was ! Did n't 
he use to make the bobbins fly ; and did n't he card and comb till hia 
face was as shiny red as a bran new penny bit ? Ah ' dad, you was 
something like a man, then, you was ! 

Jas. Well, I believe I was rather a good hand. But those mechan- 
ical times are gone ; we are now gentlemen ! 

Ste. Speak for yourself, dad ; / 'm no gentleman. I was, and 
am, and always shall be, a cotton- spinner. Now, don't be unreasonable, 
dad ! have n't you made brother Freddy a gentleman ? Surely, one 
gentleman in a family 's quite enough. 

Jas. Yes, Frederick William 's a pretty fellow, — a very pretty 
fellow. 

Ste. Freddy 's been wound on a difierent bobbin to me. Freddy 's 
been to Oxford College, and larnt no end of larning ; and Freddy 's 
been to London, and seen no end of London life. 

Jas. And, if you had n't preferred living like a bear, you might 
have accompanied him, and seen how all the mothers, who had daugh- 
ters to m.arry, tried to get him to marry their daughters. Even the 
bead of the illustrioas house of Leatherbridge graciously condescended 
w accept his proposals for her niece, Lady Valeria Westendleigh. The 
whole affair was moved, debated and carried, in a week ; only it waa 
arranged that the wedding should take place here at Bristol during 
the family's visit to Clifton, to avoid what we call eclat ! eclat, Sirl 
\iignified.'\ 

Ste. Well, I don't wonder at Freddy ; Freddy 's a handsome 
chap, and a thorough good fellow ; and Jasper Plum is the warmest 
man in our parts, and can put one hundi-ed thousand yellow-boys 
into Freddy's breeches-pocket. 

Jas. Yellow-boys ! breeches-pocket ! Stephen Plum, I hope you 
don't mean to discharg'i such fearful expressions in the hearing of 
La-ly Leatherbridge 



RHETOmCAL AND DRAMATIC. MORTON 005 

Ste. Bless you, no ; before them female noV^s, my grammar '11 be 
IS right as a trivet. 

Jas. Female nobs ! right as a trivet ! Stephen, Stephen the sad 
truth is, you 've got no elevation of soul ! You '11 live and die in 
eotton ! 

Ste. I hope so ; I mean to stick to cotton as long as cotton sticks 
to me. 

Jas. [takmg cot f on off his coat]. (>otton sticks to you too much, 
Stephen Plum — 

Ste. I wish you 'd stick to cotton, dad, and get rid of all these 
&ne, new, silk-and-satin notions of yours ! The idea of your idling 
away your time, studying parlez vou Fransy ! and then getting that 
whacking looking-glass, where I seed you making great ugly faces at 
yourself! Don't say you did n't, 'cause Toby and I catchcd you at it, 
t' other morning. How we did laugh, surely ! Ho, ho, ho ! 

Jas. What you are pleased to call great ugly faces. Sir, were pos- 
tures and smiles to receive my guests, — and look at the result ! 
Behold the ti-ansmogrified Jasper Plum ! Passed into the state of 
butterfly, out of the state of grub ! 

iS^e. A butterfly, you ? I say, dad, don't you feel a little stiffish 
about the wings ? Ho, ho ! butterfly and grub ! [Suddenly serious.] 
Look you, dad ; winter and summer, in work and out of work, I can 
manage to keep five hundred cotton spinners, — families and all, a 
matter of two thousand poor creatures, — and every man, woman and 
child, among 'era, has helped to make us rich. For my part, I can't 
lift a bit to ray mouth, but I ask myself if any of theirs be empty. 
No, no ! I must live and die among 'em ; but what need to tell you 
60 ? Don't they love you, and you love them, as dear as dear can be ? 
Bless your old heart, I know you do ! And now, dad, I '11 tell you a 
secret. I 'm in love. 

Jas. In what ? 

Ste. In love I and I don't mind to tell you aJiother secret, — it 's 
with a woman ! 

Jas. In love with a woman ! 

Ste. Yes ; and, now you 're in for it, I 'II tell you a third secret, 
— I want to marry her ofi"-hand, directly. 

Jas. Tlio boy 's mad ! His brother's marriage has got into his head, 
and turned it I You marry ? and marry a woman, too ? . What next, 
. \ wonder ? 

Ste. Don't be angry, dad ; I only want a wife of my own, like 
my father before me ; so you 'd very much oblige me, if you 'd just 
name the time and keep it. 

Jas. Indeed ! before I name the time. Sir, perhaps you '11 conde- 
Be.end to name the woman. 

Ste. Ah ! now comes the tug. I say, dad, you see that hook 
atop of the ceiling, — that 's just where you '11 jump to, when you hear 
who 't is. Well, then, the woman I love, and wanf. to marry, '\s th« 



506 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

poor factory girl, iMartha Gibbs. Now, don't jamp ! [Holering Jaitpei 
down.] 

Jos. Martha Gibbs! Ha, ha, ha! Come, I like this. There's 
Bome character about such abominable audacity ! It tickles one to have 
one's hair stand on end ! Degenerate offspring ! do you want to be the 
death of the house of Plum ? And do you think I '11 ever sanction 
Bucb an alliance for a son of mine ? Never, never ! The voice of ali 
your ancestors exclaims, Never ! never ! 

Ste. Then I wish my ancestors would just speak when they 're 
spoke to. 

Jas Reflect, rash youth, what was this creature, Martha? A 
beggar, asking charity ! 

Ste. No, she asked for wages, and paid you with hard work. 

Jas. And loho was she ? I ask for her ancestry ; she never had 
any. I ask for her parents ; I don't believe she ever had any. 

Ste. Never had a father and mother ? Then warn't she a clever 
girl to manage to do without ? Ho, ho, ho ! 

Jas. Reflect like a man, Sir, and don't laugh like a horse ! I '11 
turn that intriguing hussy, Martha Gibbs, oy.t of the house, this very 
day! 

iS^e. Stop, dad ; you don't, you can't mean that ? 

Jas. I do mean that, and I '11 do it ! 

Ste. No, you won't : you may save yourself the trouble now, and 
the pain afterioards. Martha has given notice ; she means to quit tha 
factory to-morrow morning. 

Jas. A i^Jeasant journey to her ! 

Ste. I hope so, 'cause I go along with her. 

Jas. What did you say, Sir ? 

Ste. I go along with her. 

Jas. You, Stephen I go and leave — 0, Stephen ! 

Ste. Perhaps it 's best it should be so ; long 's the day I 've seen 
my father and brother are ashamed of me. 

Jas. Stephen Plum ! 

Ste. And you 'd have me marry a fine lady, who 'd be ashamed of 
me, too ; but I won't. So, if you won't have us near you, why Mar- 
tha and I nnist love you far away. 

Jas. Well, I '11 reflect, — let me have time to reflect. 

Ste. That, 's but fair ; I '11 give you lots of time. [^Looking at his 
watch.'] I '11 give you five-and-twenty minutes. 

Jas Eh? 

Ste Well, I don't mind making it half an hour ; now, mind, in 
thirty minates I '11 return for your yes or no. If it 's " No," I must 
pa(;k up my carpet-bag, 'cause I can't go into the wide world with- 
out a change of linen. [Exit.'] 

Jas. 1 shall run distracted ! Stephen Plum, if you 've any linger' 
ing love for your half-expiring father — Stephen, I say ! Half an 
hour, indeed! tk^t the house of Plum should come 'o this! \Fixit^ 



tHETOKICAL AND DRAMATIC. SIHEL. 501 

<, THE UNION AND ITS GOVERNMENT. — /fm. GiVmore ^ iM.tM 

Government 
We hold to be the creature of" our need, 
Having no power but where necessity 
Still, under guidance of the Charter, gives it 
Our taxes raised to meet our exigence, 
And not for waste or favorites. Our People 
Left free to share the commerce of the world, 
Witliout one needless harrier on their prows. 
Our industry at liberty for venture. 
Neither abridged nor pampered ; and no calling 
P'cferred before another, to the ruin 
Or wrong of either. These, Sir, are my doctrines 
They are the only doctrines which shall keep us 
From anarchy, and that worst peril yet, 
That threatens to dissever, in the tempest, 
That mari-ied harmony of hope with power 
That keeps our starry Union o'er the storm, 
And, in the sacred bond that links our fortunes, 
Makes us defy its thunders ! Thus in one. 
The foreign despot threatens us in vain. 
Guizot and Palmerston may fret to see us 
Grasping the empires which they vainly covet, 
And stretching forth our trident o'er the seas, 
In rivalry with Britain. They may confine. 
But cannot chain us. Balances of power, • 
Framed by corrupt and cunning monarchists, 
Weigh none of our possessions ; and the seasons 
That mark our mighty progress East and West, 
Show Europe's struggling millions fondly seeking 
The better shores and shelters that are ours. 



31. COLONNA TO THE KWQ. — Richard Lalor Shiel. 

The favor that I ask is one, my liege, 
That princes often find it hard to grant. 
T is simply this : that you will hear the truth. 

I see your courtiers here do stand amazed : 
Of them I first would speak. There is not one, 
Of this wide troop of glittering parasites, 
That circle you, as priests surround their god. 
With sycophantic incense, but in soul 
Is your base foe ! These smilers here, my lic^ 
Whose dimples seem a sort of honey-comb, 
Filled and o'crflowing with their suavity, — 
These soft, melodious flatterers, r j liege. 
Tliat flourish on the flexibility 



508 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

Of their soft countenances, — are the veimin 
That haunt a prhice's ear with the false buzz 
Of villanous assentation. These are they 
Who from your mind have flouted every thought 
Of the great weal of the People. These are they 
Who from your ears have shut the public cry. — 

vVho dares complain of you ? " AH dare complain 
Behind you ; I, before you ! Do not think, 
Because you load your People with the weight 
»^ Of camels, they possess the camel's patience. 

A deep groan labors in the nation's heart , 
The very calm and stillness of the day 
Gives augury of the earthquake. All without 
Is as the marble smooth ; and all within 
Is rotten as the carcass it contains. 
Though ruin knock not at the palace gate, 
Yet will the palace gate unfold itself 
To ruin's felt-shod tread. 

Your gorgeous banquets, your high feasts of gold, 
Which the four quarters of the rifled world 
Heap with their ravished luxuries ; your pomps, 
Your palaces, and all the sumptuousness 
Of painted royalty, will melt away, 
As in a theatre the glittering scene 
Doth vanish with the shifter's magic hand, 
Ajid the mock pageant perishes. My liege, 
A single virtuous action hath more worth 
Than all the pyramids ; and glory writes 
A more enduring epitaph upon 
One generous deed, than the sarcophagus 
In which Sesostris meant to sleep. 



ADI'KESS TO THE SVflSS. — Adaptation from Schiller's play of ITiMam Tolt 

Confederates, listen to the words which Giod 
Inspires my heart withal. Here we are met 
To represent the general weal. In us 
Are all the People of the land convened. 
Then let us hold the Diet, as of old, 
And as we 're wont in peaceful times tc do. 
The time's necessity be our excuse. 
If there be aught informal in this meeting. 
Still, wheresoe'er men strike for justice, there 
Is God ; and now beneath His Heaven we stand, 
The Mations round us bear a foreign yoke 
For they have yielded to the conqueror. 
Nay, e'en within our frontiers may be found 
Some that owe villein service to a lord, — 



RHLTOraCAL AND 'DRAMA TIC. — SniEU. {'■'^ 

A race of bonded serfs from sire to sou. 

But we, the genuine race of ancient Swiss, 

Have kept our freedom, from the first, till now 

Never to princes have we bowed the knee 

What said our fathers when the P^mperor 

Pronounced a judgment in the Abbey's favor 

Awarding lands beyond his jurisdiction ? 

WTiat was their answer ? This : — " The grant is ^o^ 

No Emperor can bestow what is our own ; 

And if the Empire shall deny us justice, 

We can, within our mountains, right ourselves." 

Thus spake our fathers ; and, shall we endure 

The shame and infamy of this new yoke ; 

And, from the vassal, brook what never king 

Dared, in the fulness of his power, attempt? 

This soil we have created for ourselves, 
By the hard labor of our hands ; we 've changed 
The giant forest, that was erst the haunt 
Of savage bears, into a home for man ; 
Blasted the solid rock ; o'er the abyss 
Thrown the firm bridge for the way^faring man. 
By the possession of a thousand years. 
The soil is ours. And, shall an alien lord, 
Himself a vassal, dare to venture here, 
On our own hearths insult as, and attempt 
To forge the chains of bondage for our hands^-. 
And do us shame on our own proper soil ? 
Is there no help against such wrong as this ? 
Yes ! there 's a limit to the despot's power. 
When the oppressed looks round in vain for justiw 
When his sore burden may no more be borne, 
With fearless heart, he makes appeal to Heaven, 
And thence brings down his everlasting rights, 
Which there abide, inalienably his, 
And indestructible as are the stars. 
Nature's primeval state returns again. 
Where man stands hostile to his fellow-man ; 
And, if all other means shall fail his need, 
One last resource remains — his own good sword 
Our dearest treasures call to us for aid 
Against the oppressor's violence ; we stand 
For country, home, for wives, for children, here ! 



33. WILLIAM TELL IN WAIT FOR GESSLER. — ScitVfer 

Here through this deep defile he needs must pass 
There leads no other road to Kussnacht : — heie 
I '11 do it : — the opportunity is good. 
Yon alder -tree stands well for my concealment, — 



'10 THE STANDARD SPEAKEK. 

riiex'e- my avenging shaft will surely reach him ; 
The straitness of the path forbids pursuit. 
Now, Gessler, balance thine account with Heaven I 
Thou must away from earth — thy sand is run. 

I led a peaceful, inoffensive life ; — 
My bow was bent on farest game alone, 
And my pure soul was free from thoughts of murder, • 
But thou hast scared me from my dream of peace • 
The milk of human kindness thou hast turned 
To rankling poison in my breast ; and made 
Appalling deeds familiar to my soul. 
He who could make his own child's head his mark 
Can speed his arrow to his foeman's heart. 

My children dear, my loved and faithful wife. 
Must be protected, tyrant, from thy fury I • — 
When last I drew my bow, with trembling hand, 
And thou, with murderous joy, a father forced 
To level at his child, — when, all in vain, 
"Writhing before thee, I implored thy mercy, — 
Then, in the agony of my soul, I vowed 
A fearful oath, which met God's ear alone, 
That when my bow next winged an arrow's flight, 
Its aim should be thy heart. The vow I made, 
Amid the hellish torments of that moment, 
I hold a sacred debt, and I will pay it. 

. Thou art my lord, my Emperor's delegate ; 
Yet would the Emperor not have stretched his powar 
So far as thou. He sent thee to these Cantons 
To deal forth law, — stern law, — for he is angered ; 
But not to wanton with unbridlea will 
[n every cruelty, with fiend-like joy : — 
There is a God to punish and avenge. 

Well, I am watching for a noole prey ! 
Does not the huntsman, with severest toil, 
Roam for whole days amid the winter's cold, 
Leap with a daring bound from rock to rock, 
A.nd climb the jagged, slippery steeps, to which 
His limbs ar'e glued by his own streaming blood, - 
And all this but to gain a wretched chamois ? 
A far more precious prize is now my aim. 
The heart of that dire foe who would destroy me. 

From my first years of boyhood I have used 
The bow, — been practised in the archer's feats ; 
The bull's eye many a time my shafts have hit, 
A.nd many a goodly prize have I brought home, 
Won in the games of skill. This day I '11 make 
My master-shot, and win the highest prize 
Within the whole circumference of the mountainA 



iinKTORICAL AND DUAMATIC. — SCUILLER. 511 

Oome forth, thou bringer once of bitter pangs, 

[Draws an arrow from his belt 
My precious jewel now, — luy chiefest treasure, — 
A mark i '11 set thee, which the cry of grief 
Could never penetrate, — but thou shalt pierce it ; — 
And thou, my trusty bow-string, that so oft 
Has served me faithfully in sjxjrtivc scenes, 
Desert me not in this most serious hour 
Only be true this once, my own good cord, 
That ha3t so often winged the biting shaft ; — 
For shouldst thou fly successless from my hand, 
I have no second to send aft'^r thee. 



34. WILLIAM TELL DESCRIBES HIS ESCAPE. — ScA;Her. 

I LAY on deck, fast bound with cords, disarmed, 
in utter hopelessness. I did not think 
Again to see the gladsome light of day, 
Nor the dear faces of my wite and children. 
And eyed disconsolate the waste of waters. 

Then we put forth upon the lake, — the Viceroy 
"Rudolph der Harras, and their suite. My bow 
And cjuiver lay astern beside the helm ; 
And just as we had reached the corner, near 
The Little Axen, Heaven ordained it so, 
That from the Gotthardt's gorge a hurricane 
Swept down upon us with such headlong force, 
That every rower's heart within him sank. 
And all on board looked for a watery grave. 
Thoii heard I one of the attendant train. 
Turning to Gessler, in this strain accost him : 
" YoM see our danger, and your own, my lord, 
And that we hover on the verge of death. 
The boatmen there are powerless from fear, 
Nor are they confident what course to take ; — 
Now, here is William Tell, a fearless man. 
And knows to steer with more than common bkiil. 
How if we should avail ourselves of him. 
In this emergency ? " The Viceroy then 
Addressed me thus : " If thou wilt undertake 
To bring us through this tempest safely, Tell, 
1 might consent to frBC thee from thy bonds." 
I answered, " Yes, my lord, with God's assistanoO; 
I '11 see what can be done, and help us Heaveu ! " 
On this they loosed me from my bonds, and I 
Stood by the helm and fairly steered along , 
Yet wer eyed my shooting gear askance, 
\ad kept a "vatchful eye upon the shore. 



feia 



IBE STaAjARD SPEAKEK 



To find some point where I might leap to land . 
And when I had descried a shelving crag, 
That jutted, smooth atop, into the lake, — 
I bade the men put forth their utmost might, 
Until we came before the shelving crag. 
For there, I said, the danger will be past ! 
Stoutly they pulled, and soon we neared the poioj; 
One prayer to God for His assisting grace, 
And, straining every muscle, I brought round 
The vessel's stern close to the rocky wall ; 
Then, snatching up my weapons, with a bound 
I swung myself upon the flattened shelf. 
And with my feet thrust off, with all my might, 
The puny bark into the hell of waters. 
There let it drift about, as Heaven ordains ! 
Thus am I here, delivered from the might 
Of the dread storm, and man, more dreadful still. 



U WALLENSTEIN'S SOLILOQUY. — ScAj.'/er. Coleridge's Translation 

Is it possible ? 
Is 't so ? I can no longer what I would ? 
No longer draw back at my liking ? I 
Must do the deed because I thouffkt of it, 
And fed this heart here with a dream ? Because 
I did not scowl temptation from my presence, 
Dallied with thoughts of possible fulfilment, 
Commenced no movement, left all time uncertain, 
And only kept the road, the access, open ? 
I but amused myself with thinking of it. 
The free-will tempted me, the power to do 
Or not to do it. Was it criminal 
To make the fancy minister to hope, 
To fill the air with pretty toys of air, 
And clutch fantastic sceptres moving toward me ! 
Was not the will kept free ? Beheld I not 
The road of duty close beside me, — but 
One little step, and once more I was in it ! 
Where am I ? Whither have I been transported ?• 
No road, no track behind me, but a wall, 
Impenetrable, insurmountable. 
Rises obedient to the spells I muttered 
And meant not, — my own doings tower behind mc 

What is thy enterprise 1 thy aim ? thy object ? 
Hast honestly confessed it to thyself? 
Power seated on a quiet throne thou 'dst shake, — 
Power on an ancient consecrated throne, 
Strong in possession, founded in all custom 



HHiiTORTCAL AND DRAMATIC. —SCHILLER. 518 

Power by a thousand tough and stringy roots 

Fixed to the people's pioiLS nursery-faith. 

Tliis, this will be no strife of strength with strength. 

That feared I not. I brave each combatant, 

WTiora I can look on, fixing eye to eye, 

Who, full himself of courage, kindles courage 

In me, too. 'T is a foe invisible 

The which I fear, — a fearful enemy, 

^Vhich in the human heart opposes me, 

By its coward fear alone made fearful to me. 

Not that, which full of life, instinct with power, 

Makes known its present being ; that is not 

The true, the perilously formidable. 

O no ! it is the common, the quite common, 

The thing of an eternal yesterday. 

What ever was, and evermore returns, 

Sterling to-moi'row, for to-day t was sterling ! 

For of the wholly common is man made, 

And custom is his nurse I Woe, then, to them 

Who lay irreverent hands upon his old 

House fui'niture, the dear inheritance 

From his forefathers ! For time consecrates ; 

And what is gray with age becomes religion. 

Be in possession, and thou hast the right. 

And sacred will the many guard it for thee ! 



36. 'TIE BELIEF IN ASTliOhOQY. — S chi/Cer. Coleridge's Translation. 

O NEVER rudely will I blame his fliith 
In the might of stars and angels. 'T is not merely 
The human being's Pride that peoples space 
With life and mystical predominance ; 
Since likewise for the stricken heart of Love 
This visible nature, and this common world, 
Is all too narrow ; yea, a deeper import 
Lurks in the legend told my infant years 
Than lies upon that truth, we live to learn. 
For fable is Love's world, his home, his birth-place 
Delightedly dwells he 'mong fays and talismans, 
And spirits ; and delightedly believes 
Divinities, being himself divine. 
The intelligible forms of ancient poets, 
The fair humanities of old religion. 
The Power, the Beauty, and the Majesty, 
That had her haunts in dale, or piny mountain, 
Or foi-est by slow stream, or pebbly spring, 
Or chasms, and watei-y depths, — all these have vaniKhad 
They live no longer in the faith of reason ' 
3c 



614 THE STANDARD SPEAKEE. 

But still the heart doth need a language, — still 
Doth the old instinct bring back the old names, 
And to yon starry world they now are gone, 
Spirits or gods, that used to share this earth 
With man as with their friend ; and to the lover 
Yonder they move, from yonder visible sky 
Shoot influence down : and even at this day 
'T is Jupiter who brings whate'er is great, 
And Venus who brings everything that 's fair 



BI TB K GRIEF OF BEREAVEMENT. — Wallenstein's R^ections on hearing oj the ieeil 
of young Piccolomini. Translated from Schiller by Coleridge. 

He is gone, — is dust ! 
He, the more fortunate ! yea, he hath finished I 
For him there is no longer any future. 
His life is bright, — bright without spot it was, 
And cannot cease to be. No ominous hour 
Knocks at his door with tidings of mishap. 
Far off is he, above desire and fear ; 
No more submitted to the change and chance 
Of the unsteady planets. ! 't is well 
With Mm ! but who knows what the coming hour, 
Veiled in thick darkness, brings for us ? 

This anguish will be wearied down, I know ; — 
What pang is permanent with man ? From the highest, 
As fi'om the vilest thing of every day. 
He learns to wean himself; for the strong hours 
Conquer him. Yet I feel what I have lost 
In him. The bloom is vanished from my life. 
For ! he stood beside me, like my youth, — 
Transformed for me the real to a dream. 
Clothing the palpable and the familiar 
With golden exhalations of the dawn ! 
Whatever fortunes wait my future toils, 
The beautiful is vanished, and returns not 



38. PRIULI AND JAFFIER. - - Thomas Otivay. 

IPhomas Otway, from whuse tragedy of " Venice Preserved '' the following extract is tekea, 
was born in Sussex, England, in 1651, and died, in a state of almost incredible destitution and 
wretiihedness, in 1685. lie was the author of several plays, of which his " Venice Preserved" 
-S the most deservedly celebrated. 

PriulL No more ! I '11 hear no more ! Begone, and leave me ' 
Ja;ffier. Not hear me ! By my sufferings, but you shall i 
My Lord, my Lord ' I 'm not that abject wretch 
You think me. Patience ! where 's the distance throws 
Me back so far, but I may boldly speak 
In right, though proud oppressioE, will not hear m© » 



RHKTOIIICAI. AND DllAMATlC. — CTWAI 515 

Pri. Have you not wron<j;ed me; 

Jaf. Could my nature e'er 
Have brooked injustice, or the doing wrongs, 
1 need not now thus low have bent myself 
To gain a hearing from a cruel father. 
Wronged you ? 

Pri. Yes, wronged me ! In the nicest point 
The honor of my house, you 've done me wrong. 
You. may remember (for I now will speak, 
And urge its baseness), when you first came home 
From travel, with such hopes as made you looked oa, 
By all men's eyes, a youth of expectation, 
Pleased with your growing virtue, I received you, 
Courted, and sought -"o raise you to your merits : 
My house, my table, nay, mv fortune, too, 
My very self, was yours ; — you might have used me 
To your best service. Like an open friend, 
I treated, trusted you, and thought you mine, 
When, in requital of my best endeavors. 
You treacherously practised to undo me : 
Seduced the weakness of my age's darlmg. 
My only child, and stole her from my bosom. 
0, Belvidera! 

Jaf. 'T is to me you owe her : 
Childless you had been else, and in the grave 
Your name extinct, — no more Priuli heard of. 
You may remember, scarce five years are past, 
Since, in your brigantine, you sailed to see 
The Adriatic wedded by our Duke ; 
And I was with you. Your unskilful pilot 
Dashed us upon a rock, when to your boat 
You made for safety : entered first yourself: 
The affrighted Belvidera following next, 
As she stood trembling on the vessel's side, 
^Was, by a wave, washed off into the deep ; 
When instantly I plunged into the sea, 
And, buffeting the billows to her rescue, 
Redeemed her life with half the loss of mine 
Like a rich conquest, in one hand I bore her, 
And with the other dashed the saucy waves, 
That thronged and pressed to rob me of my prize. 
I brought her, — gave her to your despairing arms : 
Indeed you thanked me ; but a nobler gratitude 
Rose in her soul ; for from that. hour she loved me. 
Till for her life she paid me with herself 

Prt. Y^ou stole her from me ! — like a thief you stole hfl^ 
At dead of night ! that cursed hour vou ehod* 
To rifle me of all mj heart t' 



S16 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

May all your joys in her prove fake, like miae? 
A sterile fortune, and a barren bed. 
Attend you both ! continual discord make 
Your days and nights bitter and grievous ! still 
May the hard hand of a vexatious need 
Oppress and grind you ; till, at last, you find 
The curse of disobedience all your portion ! 

Jaf. Half of your curse you have bestowed in ram ; -» 
Heaven has already crowned our outcast lot 
With a young boy, sweet as his mother's beauty. 
May he live to prove more gentle than his grandsire. 
And happier than his father ! 

Pri. Rather live 
To bait thee for his bread, and din your ears 
"With hungry cries ; whilst his unhappy mother 
Sits down and weeps in bitterness of want ! 

Jaf. You talk as if 't would please you. 

Pri. 'T would, by Heaven ! 

Jaf. AVould I were in my grave ! 

Pri. And she, too, with thee ! 
For, living here, you 're but my cursed remembrancer* 
I was once happy ! 

Jaf You use me thus, because you know my soul 
Is fond of Belvidera. You perceive 
My life feeds on her, therefore thus you treat me. 
Were I that thief, the doer of such wrongs 
As you upbraid me with, what hinders me 
But I might send her back to you with contumely, 
And court my fortune where she would be kinder ? 

Pri. You dare not do 't ! 

Jaf. Indeed, my Lord, I dare not. 
My heart, that awes me, is too much my mastei. 
Three years are past, since first our vcfws were plighted 
During which time, the world must bear me witness, 
I 've treated Belvidera as your daughter, — 
The daughter of a Senator of Venice ; — 
Distinction, place, attendance, and observance, 
Due to her birth, she always has commanded. 
Out of my little fortune I 've done this ; 
Because (though hopeless e'er to win your nature '> 
The world might see I loved her for hersoif, 
Not as the heiress of the great Priuli. 

Pri. No more ! 

Jaf. Yes, all, and then adieu forever. 
There 's not a wretch that lives on common charilij 
But 's happier than I ; for I have known 
The luscious sweets of plenty ; — every night 
Have slept with soft content about my head, 



KHBTOEICAL AND DRAMATIC.— MATHEWS. Ml 

And never waked but to a joyful morning ; 

Yet now mast fall, like a full ear of corn, 

WTiosc blossom 'scaped, yet 's withered in the ripening ' 

Pri. Home, and be humble I Study to retrench ; 
Discharge the lazy vermin in thy hall, 
Those pageants of thy folly ; 
Reduce the glittering trappings of thy wife 
To humble weeds, tit for thy little state ; 
Then to some suburb cottage both retire , 
Drudge to feed loathsome life ! Hence, hence, and starve 
Home, home, I say ! 



39. NOTHING IN IT. — Charles Mathews. 

Jeeck. But you don't laugh, Coldstream 1 Come, man, be amused, 
for once in your life ! — you don't laugh. 

Sir Charles. 0, yes, I do. You mistuke ; I laughed twice, dis- 
tinctly, — only, the fact is, I am bored to death ! 

Leech Bored ? "SMiat ! after such a feast as that you have given 
us ? Look at me, — I 'm inspired ! I 'm a King at this moment, and 
all the world is at my feet ! 

Sir C. i\Iy dear Leech, you began life late. You are a young 
fellow, — forty-five, — and have the world yet before you. I started 
at thirteen, lived quick, and exhausted the whole round of pleasure 
before I was thirty. I 've tried everything, heard everything, done 
everything, know everything ; and here I am, a man of thii-ty-three, 
literally used up — completely blase ! 

Leech. Nonsense, man ! — used up, indeed ! — with your wealth, 
with your twenty estates in the sunniest spots in England, — not to 
mention that Utopia, within four walls, in the Rue de Frovence, in 
Paris. 

Sir C. I 'm dead with enTiui ! 

Leech. Ennui ! poof Croesus ! 

Sir C. Crojsus ! — no, I 'm no Croesus ! My father, — you 've seen 
his portrait, good old fellow I — he certainly did leave me a little mat- 
ter of twelve thousand pounds a year ; but, after all — 

Leech. O, come ! — 

Sir C. 0, I don't complain of it. 

Leech. I should think not. 

Sir C. 0, no ; there are some people who can manage to do » 
less, — on credit. 

Leech. I know several. My dear Coldstream, you should trj 
ehange of scene. 

Sir C. I have tried it ; — what 's the use ? 

Leech. But I 'd gallop all over Europe. 

Sir C. I have ; — there 's nothing in it. 

Tieech. Nothing in all Europe ? 

Sir C. Nothing I — 0, dear, yes ! I remember, at one time, [ did, 
some.how. jro about a good d^al. 



618 THE STANDARD SPEAK. ER. 

Leech. You should go to Switzerland. 

Sir C. I ha-se been. — Nothing there, — people say sc lauch aboti4 
everything. There certainly were a few glaciers, some monks, and 
large dogs, and thick ankles, and bad wine, and Mont Blanc ; yes, and 
there was ice on the top, too ; but I prefer the ice at Gunter's, — less 
trouble, and more in it. 

Leech. Then, if Switzerland would n't do, I 'd try Italy. 

Sir C. My dear Leech, 1 've tried it over and over again, — ano 
«rhat then ? 

Leech. Did not Rome inspire you ? 

Sir C. 0, believe me, Tom, a most horrible hole ! People talk sc 
much about these things. There 's the Coloseum, now ; — round, very 
round, — a goodish ruin enough ; but I was disappointed with it. Capi- 
tol, — tolerable high; and St. Peter's, — marble, and mosaics, and foun- 
tains, — dome certainly not badly scooped ; but there was nothing 
in it. 

Leech. Come, Coldstream, you must admit we have nothing like 
St. Peter's in London. 

Sir C. No, because we don't want it ; but, if we wanted such a 
thing, of course we should have it. A dozen gentlemen meet, pass 
resolutions, institute, and in twelve months it would be run up ; nay, 
if that were all, we 'd buy St. Peter's itself, and have it sent over. 

Leech. Ha, ha ! well said, — you 're quite right. What say you to 
beautiful Naples ? 

Sir C. Not bad, — excellent water-melons, and goodish opera ,' 
they took me up Vesuvius, — a horrid bore ! It smoked a good deal, 
certainly, but altogether a wretched mountain ; — saw the crater — 
looked down, but there was nothing in it. 

Leech. But the bay ? 

Sir C. Inferior to Dublin ! 

Leech. The Campagna? 

Sir C. A swamp ! 

Leech. Greece ? 

Sir C. A morass ! 

Leech. Athens ? 

Sir C. A bad Edinburgh ! 

Leech. Egypt ? 

Sir C. A desert ! 

Leech. The Pyramids? 

Sir C. Humbugs ! — nothing in any of them ! You bore me. is 
it possible that you cannot invent something that would make my 
blood boil in my veins, — my hair stand on end, — my heart beat, — mj 
pulse rise ; — that would produce an excitement — an emotion — a seu' 
satioE — a palpitation — but, no ! — 

Leech. I 've an idea ! 

Sir a Yon ? What is it « 

Leech. Marry ' 



RnirroEiCAi. aud dram.ai'IC. - <-orNE. 



I& 



Sir C. Hum ! — well, not bad. There 's novelty about the notion 
it never diJ strike me to — 0, but, no : I should be bored with 'sh* 
exertion of choosing. If a wife, now, could be hud like a dinner — for 
jrderice. 

Leech. She can, by you. Take the first woman that comes : on mj 
life, she '11 not refuse twelve thousand pounds a year. 

Sir C. Come, I don't dislike the project ; I almost feel something 
Uke a sensation coming. I have n't felt so excited for some time ; it 'a 
a novel enjoyment — a surprise! I 'U try it. 



40. MOSES AT THE FAIR. — J. S. Coyne. 

Jenkinson, having thrown aside liis disguise as a quack doctor, enters with a box under his 
arm, encounters Moses, and sets down his bo.x. 

Jenhinson. A wonderful man ! A wonderful man ! 

Moses. Ah, a patient of that impudent quack doctor. 

Jen. Quack doctor, Sir ? Would there were more such ! One 
draught of his aqua soliginus has cured me of a sweating sickness, that 
was on me now these six years ; and carried a large imposthume off 
my throat, that scarce let me eat, drink or sleep, except in an upright 
postui'e, and now it has gone as clean, saving your presence, as — 
[picks his pocket] — that, Sir ! 0, a wonderful man ! I came here, 
at full length, in a cart ; but I shall ride back as upright as a gate-post, 
if I can but come by a horse. 

Moses [aside]. A customer for the colt; he seems a simple fellow. 
I have a horse to sell. Sir. 

Jen. ! I warrant me you are one of those cozening horse-jockeys 
that take in poor honest folk. I know no more of horses than you do 
of Greek. 

Moses. Nay — [aside] — but I must appear simple. — I assure you, 
Sir, that you need not fear being cozened by me. I have a good 
stout colt for sale, that has been worked in the plough these two years 
you can but step aside and look at him. 

Jen. Well, as for that, I don't care if I do ; but, bless me ! I was 
forgetting my wares. [Tctkes up his box. 

Moses. What have you there ? 

Jen. [mysteriously]. Ah! that's a secret. They're my wares. 
There 's a good twelve pounds' worth under the lid of that box. But 
you '11 not talk about it, or I might be robbed ; lUu fair 's full of 
rogues ; perhaps you 're one of 'em, — you look mighty sharp ! 

Moses. Nay, my good man, I am as honest as thyself; [asidel — 
^ugh perhaps not quite such a simjileton ! 

Jen. Well, I don't care if I do look at thy horse ; [aside] -~ 
and you may say good-by to him. — But you 're sure he 's quiet tc 
nae and drive ? 

Moses. I 've driven him myself, and I am not one that driveth ftiri- 
wsly ; and you may believe he 's quiet to ride, when I tell you be 's 
carried my mc'her, an old lady, and never thrown her. [Aside.] It 's 



OiV THfi STAMiJAllU SPEAKER. 

true, she tumbled off once; but that was her fault, and not tb« 
colt's. 

Jen. Then, I don't care if I say a bargain. How much is it to be \ 
I don't like paying more than ten guineas. 

Moses \aside\ He 's not worth half the money! You shall nauie 
your own price; Saside^ — and then nobody can say I chea+od him. 

Jen. What say you to nine guineas, and the odd half-guinea fw 
saddle and bridle ? 

Moses. Nay, I would not drive a hard bargain, — I 'm content, 

Jen. Stop a bit, and I '11 give the money. [Pretends to search his 
pockets.^ Eh ? — 0, nay, 't is t' other pocket ; no, I I 'm a ruined 
man ! — I be robbed — thieves ! I be robbed — 

Moses. Robbed ? This comes of carrying money. " Cantabit vacuus 
coram latrone viator," as Juvenal says. But I will lend thee enough 
to take thee home again. [Going to put his hand into his pocket. 

Jen. [pi-events him]. Nay, good young man, I have friends enow 
in this place who will do that for me. It is the loss of the horse that 
vexes me. Hold ! — perhaps, though I can no longer buy, you may 
be willing to make a barter? 

Moses. Why, the practice of barter was much used among the 
ancients; and, indeed, the Lacedemonians had no coined money until 
after the time of Lycurgus, as you are aware. 

Jen. No — I can't say I know the family. But will you exchange 
your horse against my wares ? There 's a good twelve pounds' worth 
of 'em. 

Moses. What are they ? Deprome — that is, bring them forth. 

Jen. [opens his box]. A gross of green spectacles, fine pebbles and 
silver rims. [leaking a pair out of case. 

3foses. A gross of green spectacles. [Taking a pair. 

Jen. A dozen dozen. 

Moses. Let's see ; [aside, calcidates] — twelve times twelve is — 
and twenty -one 's into — go — yes, a capital bargain ! — I accept : you 
take the colt, and I '11 take the spectacles.' [Offering to take the box. 

Jen. Nay, nay ! 1 '11 give you the box when you 've given me tha 
colt ; — so, come I 

Moses. A gross of green spectacles i Huzza ! [Aside.] I '11 retail 
them for twice the money. " Nocte pluit tota redeunt spectacula 
mane " — " There come back spectacles many." Ha, ha ! the silly fel- 
low ! Well, it 's not my fault, he will cheat himself, — ha, ha ! 0, 
Moses is a simpleton, is he ? Moses can't make a bargain, can't he ? 

[jExit. 

Jen. Of all the green spectacles I ever sold, I must say you 're th« 
greenest. ^ 

41. VAN DEN BOSCH AND VAN AlVTEYEUyE. — Henry Tat/ lor. 

Artevelde. This is a mighty matter, Van den Bosch, 
Aiid much to be revolved ere it be answered. 

Van den ^osch. The people shall ele t thee with one voice 



SflETORICAL AND DKAMATIC. — lATWB. Ml 

i will insure the Wliito-Hoods, and the rest 

Will eagerly accept thy nomination, 

So to be rid of some that they like less. 

Thy name is honored both of rich and poor; 

For all are mindful of the glurioas rule 

Thy father bore, when Flanders, prosperous then, 

From end to end obeyed liim as one town. 

Art. They may remember it; and, Van den IJiKsch, 
May I not, too, bethink me of the end 
To which this People brought my noble father ' 
They gorged the fruits of his good husljandry 
Till, drunk with long prosperity, and blind 
With too much fatness, they tore up the root 
From which their common weal had sprung and flourished 

Yan den B. Nay, Master Philip, let the past be past. 

Art. Here, on the doorstead of my father's house. 
The blood of his they spilt is seen no more. 
But when i was a child I saw it there ; 
For so long as my widow-mother lived 
Water came never near the sanguine stain. 
She loved to show it me ; and then, with awe, 
But hoarding still the purpose of revenge, 
I heard the tale ; which, like a daily prayer 
Repeated, to a rooted feeling grew, — 
How long he fought ; how falsely came like friends 
The villains Guisebert Grutt and Simon Bette ; 
All the base murder of the one by many ! 
Even such a brutal multitude as they 
Who slew my father ; yea, who slew their own 
(For like one had he ruled the parricides), 
Even such a multitude thou 'dst have me govern. 

Van den B. Why, what if Jacques Artevolde was kille4 
He had his reign, and that for many a year, 
And a great glory did he gain thereby. 
And as for Guisebert Grutt and Simon Bette, 
Their breath is in their nostrils as was his. 
If you be as stout-hearted as your father, 
And mindful of the villanous trick they played him, 
Their hour of reckoning is well-nigh come. 
Of that, and of this base, false-hearted league 
They 're making with the earl, these two to us 
Shall give account. 

Art. They cannot render back 
The golden bowl that 's broken at the fountain, 
Or mend the wheel that 's broken at the cistern 
Or twist again the silver cord that 's loosed. 
Y'ea. life for life, vile bankrupts as they are, — - 



€22 THE STANDARD SPEA.S_ER. 

Their worthless lives, for his of countless price, — 
£s their whole wherewithal to pay their debt. 
Yet, retribution is a goodly thing, 
And it were \^ 3II to wring the payment frooj them 
Ejven to the utmost drop of their heart's biood ! 

Van den B. Then will I call the People to the square, 
And speak for your election. 

Art. Not so fast. 
Your vessel, Van den Bosch, hath felt the storm ' 
She rolls dismasted in an ugly swell. 
And you would make a jury-mast of me. 
Whereon to spread the tatters of your canvas. 
And what am I ? Why, I am as the oak 
Which stood apart, far down the vale of life, 
G-rowing retired, beneath a quiet sky. 
Wherefore should this be added to the wreck ? 

Van den B. I pray you, speak it in the Burgher's tongue 
I lack the scholarship to talk in tropes. 

Art. The question, to be plain, is briefly this : — 
Shall I, who, chary of tranquillity, 
Not busy in this factious city's broils. 
Nor frequent in the market-place, eschewed 
The even battle, — shall I join the rout ? 

Van den B. Times are sore changed, I see; there 's none in Goenl 
That answers to the name of Artevelde. 
Thy father did not carp nor question thus. 
When Ghent invoked his aid. The days have been 
When not a citizen drew breath in Ghent 
But freely would have died in Freedom's cause. 

Art. The cause. I grant thee, Van den Bosch, is good ; 
And, were I linked to earth no otherwise 
But that my whole heart centred in myself, 
I could have tossed you this poor life to play with, 
Taking no second thought. But as things are, 
I will revolve the matter warily, 
And send thee \Ford betimes of my conclusion. 

Van de7i B. Betimes it must be, for the White-IIood ckiefil 
Meet two hours hence ; and ere we separate 
0"ir course must be determined. 

Art. In two hours, 
Lf I be for you, I will send this ring 
In token I ha\'e so resolved. Farewell ' 

Van den B. Philip Vac Artevelde, a greater man 
Than ever Ghent beheld, we '11 make of thee, 
[f thou be bold enough to try this venture, 
Grod give thee heart do so ! Fare thee well 

\Ezit Van den Bosch.] 



RHET(miCAL AND DRAMATIC. -ALLINGHAM. 02S 

Art. \afii>r a long pause]. Is it vain glory that thus wLi5;)ers me 
rhat 't is ignoble to have led my life 
In idle meditations ? — that the times 
Demand me, that they call my father's name ' 
0, what a fiery heart was his ! such souls, 
Whose sudden visitations daze the world, 
Vanish like lightning, but they leave behind 
A voice that in the distance far away 
Wakens the slumbering ages. 0, my father ! 
Thy life is eloquent, and more persuades 
Unto dominion than thy death deters ! 



43 THE WEAPHERCOCK. — J. T. Allinsrham. 

Old Fickle. What reputation, what honor, what profit can accrue 
to you from such conduct as yours ? One moment you tell me you 
are going to become the greatest musician in the world, and straight 
you fill my house with fiddlers. 

Tristram Fickle. I am clear out of that scrape now, Sir. 

Old F. Then, from a fiddler, you are metamorphosed into a philos- 
opher ; and, for the noise of drums, trumpets and hautboys, you sub- 
stitute a vile jargon, more unintelligible than was ever heard at the 
tower of Babel. 

Tri. You are right. Sir. I have found out that philosophy is folly ; 
BO I have cut the philosophers of all sects, from Plato and Aristotle 
down to the puzzlers of modern date. 

Old F. How much had I to pay the cooper, the other day, for bar- 
relling you up in a large tub, when you resolved to live like Diogenes ? 

Tri. You should not have paid him anything. Sir ; for the tub 
would not hold. You see the contents are run out. 

Old F. No jesting. Sir ! this is no laughing matter. Your follies 
have tired me out. I verily believe you have taken the whole round 
of arts and sciences in a month, and have been of fifty dilferent minds 
in half an hour. 

Tri. And, by that, shown the versatility of my genius. 

Old F. Don't tell me of versatility. Sir ! Let me see a littlo 
steadiness. You have nevsr yet been constant to anything but 
extravagance. 

Tri. Yes, Sir, — one thing more. 

Old F. What is that. Sir ? 

Tri. Affection for you. However my head may have wandered, 
my heart has always been constantly attached to the kindest of parents ; 
<ind, from this moment, I am resolved to lay my follies aside, and p'or- 
Bue that line of conduct which will be most pleasing to the best of 
fathers and of friends. 

Old F. Well said, my boy, — well said ! You make me happy, 
indeed ! [Patting him on the skouider.'] Now, then, my dear Tri* 
<xam, let me know what you really mean to do 



o2'i THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

Tri. To study the law — 

Old F. The law ! 

Tri. 1 am most resolutely bent on following that profession. 

Old F. No ! 

Tri. Absolutely and irrevocably fixed. 

Old F. Better and better ! I am overjoyed. Why, 't is the vorj 
tiling I wished. Now I am happy! [Tristram ?nakes gestures as 
if speaking.] See how his mind is engaged ! 

Tri. Gentlemen of the Jury — 

Old F. Why, Tristram ! 

Tri. This is a cause — 

Old F. 0, my dear boy ! I forgive you all your tricks. I see some- 
thing about you now that I can depend on. [Tristram continuei 
making gestures.] 

Tri. I am for the plaintiff in this cause — 

Old F. Bravo ! bravo ! Excellent boy ! I '11 go and order your 
books, directly ! 

Tri. 'T is done, Sir. 

Old F. What, already ! 

Tri. I ordered twelve square feet of books, when I first thoughtof 
embracing the arduous profession of the law. 

Old F. What, do you mean to read by the foot ? 

Tri. By the foot, Sir ; that is the only way to become a solid 
lawyer. 

Old F. Twelve square feet of learning ! Well — 

Tri. I have likewise sent for a barber — 

Old F. A barber ! What, is he to teach you to shave close ? 

Tri. He is to shave one-half of my head, Sir. 

Old F. You will excuse me if I cannot perfectly understand what 
tliat has to do with the study of the law. 

Ti'i. Did you never hear of Demosthenes, Sir, the Athenian ora- 
tor ? He had half his head shaved, and locked himself up in a coal- 
cellar. 

Old F. Ah, he was perfectly right to lock himself up, after having 
undergone such an operation as that. He certainly would have made 
rather an odd figure abroad. 

Tri. I think I see him now, awaking the dormant patriotism cf his 
countrymen, — lightning in his eye, and thunder in his voice ; be 
poui'S forth a torrent of eloquence, resistless in its force ; the throne 
of Philip trembles while he speaks ; he denounces, and indignation 
fills the bosom of his hearers ; he exposes the impending danger, and 
every one sees impending ruin ; he threatens the tyrant, — they grasp 
their swords • he calls for vengeance, — their thu'sty weapons gUtter La 
<he air, and thousands reverberate the cry ! One soul animates a 
nation, anrl that sovl is the soul of the orator ! 

Old F. 0, what 1 figure he will make on the King's Bench ! But, 
?ome 1 will tell you no»- what my plan is, and then you will see 'aow 



RHETORICAL AND DRAMATIC. 02& 

happLy tiiis determination of yours will further it. You have ^^Tru- 
tram jnakes extravagant gestm es, as if speaking] often heard ma 
speak of my friend Briefwit, the barrister — 

Trt. ^\llo is against me in this cause — 

Old F. He is a most learned lawyer — 

Tri. But, as I have justice on my side — 

Old F. Zounds ! he does n't hear a word I say ! Why, Tristraia 

Tri. I beg your pardon. Sir ; I was prosecuting my studies. 

Old F. Now, attend — 

Tri. As my learned friend observes — Go on, Sir ; I am all 
attention. 

Old F. Well, ray friend the counsellor — 

Tri. Say learned friend, if you please. Sir. We gentlemen o f the 
law always — 

Old F. Well, well, — my learned friend — 

Tri. A black patch ! 

Old F. Will you listen, and be silent ? 

Tri. I am as mute as a judge. 

Old F. My friend, I say, has a ward who is very handsome, and 
who has a very handsome fortune. She would make you a charming 
wife. 

Tri. This is an action — 

Old F. Now, I have hitherto been afraid to introduce you to my 
friend, the barrister, because I thought your lightness and his gravity — 

Tri. iMight be plaintiff and defendant. 

Old F. But now you are grown serious and steady, and have 
resolved to pursue his profession, I will shortly bring you together ; 
you will obtain his good opinion, and all the rest follows, of course. 

Tri. A verdict in my favor. 

Old F. You marry and sit down, happy for life, 

Tri. In the King's Bench. 

Old F. Bravo ! Ha, ha, ha ! But now run to your study — run 
to your study, my dear Tristram, and I '11 go and call upon the coun- 
sellor. 

Tri. I remove by habeas corpus. 

Old F. Pray have the goodness to make haste, then. {Hurrying 
him off.] 

Tri. Gentlemen of the Jury, this is a cause — \Exi^.\ 

Old F. The inimitable boy ! I am now the happiest father living 
What genius he has ! He '11 be lord chancellor, one day or other, l 
dare be sworn. I am sure he has talents ! 0, how I long to see hinj 
»t the bar! 



43. SALADIN, MAIEK ADIIEL, ATTENDANT. —New Mot My Magaxiru. 

Attendant. A stranger craves admittance to your highnesa 
Saladin. Whence comes he ? 
Jtte?i. That I know not. 



626 THE STANDARD SPfiAKER 

Enveloped with a Yestment of strange form. 
His countenance is hidden ; but his step, 
His lo/ty port, his voice in vain disguised, 
Prochiim — if that I dare pronounce it — 

Sal. Whom? 

Atten. Thy royal brother ' 

Sal. Bring him instantly. [Exit Attendant.] 
Now, with his specious, smooth, persuasive tongue, 
Fraught with some wily subterfuge, he thinks 
To dissipate my anger. He shall die ! 

[E?iter Atte7idant and Malek Adhel? 
Leave us together. [Exit Attendant.] [Aside.] I should know tbat 

form. 
Now summon all thy fortitude, my soul. 
Nor, though thy blood cry for him, spare the guilty ! 
[Aloiid.] Well, stranger, speak ; but first unveil thyself, 
For Saladin must view the form that fronts him. 

Malek Adhel. Behold it, then ! 

Sal. I see a traitor's visage. 

Mai. Ad. A brother's ! 

Sal. No! 
Saladin owns no kindred with a villain. 

Mai. Ad. 0, patience, Heaven ! Had any tongue but thio* 
Uttered that word, it ne'er should speak another. 

Sal. And why not now ? Can this heart be more pierced 
By Malek Adhel's sword than by his deeds ? 
0, thou hast made a desert of this bosom ! 
For open candor, planted sly disguise ; 
For confidence, suspicion ; and the glow 
Of generous friendship, tenderness and love, 
Forever banished ! Whither can I turn, 
When he by blood, by gratitude, by faith, 
By every tie, bound to support, forsakes me ? 
Who, who can stand, when Malek Adhel falls ? 
Henceforth I turn me from the sweets of love : 
The smiles of friendship, and this glorious world, 
In which all find some heart to rest upon, 
Shall be to Saladin a cheerless void, — 
His brother has betrayed him ! 

Mai. Ad. Thou art softened ; 
r am thy brother, then ; but late thou saidst- 
My ton^-ue can never utter t'he base title ! 

Sal. Was it traitor ? True ! 
Thou hast betrayed me in my fondest hopes ! 
Villain ? 'T is just ; the title is appropriata 
Dissembler ? T is not written in thy face i 
No, nor imprinted on that specious brow : 



BaETOmCAI. A\D liUAMATlC 527 

But on this bieaking heart the name is stamped, 

Forever stamped, with that of Malek Adhel ! 

Thinkest thou I 'm softened ? Bj 3Iohainmed ! these nands 

Should crush these aching eyeballs, ere a tear 

Fall from them at thy fute ! 0, monster, monster . 

The brute that tears the infant from its nurse 

Is excellent to thee, for in his form 

The impulse of his nature may be read ; 

But thou, so beautiful, so proud, so noble, 

0, what a wretch art thou ! ! can a term 

fn all the various tongues of man be found 

Co match thy infamy ? 

Mai. Ad. Go on ! to on ! 
T is but a little while to hear thee, Saladin ; 
ind, bursting at thy fett, this heart will prove 
its penitence, at least. 

Sat. Thai were an end 
too noble for a tiditor! The bowstring is 
A more approoriaie finish ! Thou shalt die! 

Mai. Ad. Ana; uenth were welcome at another's mandate 
What, what have 1 to live for ? Be it so, 
If that, in all thy armies, yAi^ be found 
An executing hand. 

Sal. 0, doubt it not I 
They 're eager for the otBce. PeiMy, 
So black as thine, effaces trom their winds • 
All memory of thy former excellence. 

Mai. Ad. Defer not, then, their wishes. Saladin, 
If e'er this form was joyful to thy sighi, 
This voice seemed grateful to thine ear, acoedc 
To my last prayer : — 0, lengthen not this sceow. 
To which the agonies of death were pleasing I 
Let me die speedily ! 

Sal. This very hour ! 
[Aside.] For, O ! the more I look upon that tacb. 
The more I hear the accents of that voice. 
The monarch softens, and the judge is lost 
In all the brother's weakness ; yet such guilt, — 
Such vile ingratitude, — it calls for vengeance ; 
And vengeance it shall have ! What, ho ! who waitsj tnctt ? 

[Enter ^ttenacin* ] 

Attsn. Did your highness call ? 

Sal. A&semble quickly 
My forces in the court. Tell them they come 
To view the death of yonder bosom-traitor. 
And, bid them mark, that he who will not spare 
His brother when he errs, expects obedience. 
Silent obedience from his followers. [Exit Atte7idant] 



5*^.3 THE SIANUAUD SPEAKKK- 

Mai. Ad Now, Saladin, 
The word is given , I have nothing more 
To fear from thee, my brother. I am not 
About to crave a miserable life. 
Without thy love, thy honor, thy esteem, 
Life were a burden to me. Think not, either. 
The justice of thy sentence I would question. 
But one request now trembles on my tongue, — 
One wish still clinging round the heart, which soon 
Not even that shall torture, — will it, then, 
Thinkest thou, thy slumbers render quieter, 
Thy waking thoughts more pleasing, to reflect, 
That when thy voice had doomed a brother'' death, 
The last request which e'er was his to utte' 
Thy harshness made him carry to the gra e ? 

Sal. Speak, then ; but ask thyself if thou hast reason 
To look tor much indulgence here. 

Mai. Ad. I have not ! 
Yet will I ask for it. We part forever ; 
This is our last farewell ; the king is satisfied ; 
The judge has spoke the irrevocable sentence. 
None sees, none hears, save that omniscient power, 
Which, trust me, will not frown to look upon 
Two brothers part like such. When, in the face 
Of forces once my own, I 'm led to death, 
Then be thine eye unmoistened ; let thy voice 
Then speak my doom untrembling ; then, 
Unmoved, behold this stiff and blackened corse. 
Bat now I ask — nay, turn not, Saladin ! — 
I ask one single pressure of thy hand ; 
From that stern eye one solitary tear — 
0, torturing recollection ! — one kind word 

From the loved tongue which once breathed naught but kindoe^ 
Still silent ? Brother ! friend ! beloved companion 
Of all my youthful sports ! — are they forgotten ? — 
Strike me with deafness, make me blind, Heaven ! 
Let me not see this unforgiving man 
Smile at my agonies ! nor hear that voice 
Pronounce my doom, which would not say one word 
One little word, whose cherished memory 
Would soothe the struggles of departing life ! 
Yet, yet thou wilt ! O, turn thee, Saladin ! 
liook on my face, — thou canst not spurn me then. 
Look on the once-loved face of Malek Adhel 
For the last time, and call him — 

Sal. [seizing his ha7id\. Brother! brother! 

Mai, Ad. \br taking away}. Now call thy followers 



RHETORICAL AND DRAMATIC. 529 

Death has not now 

A single pang in store. Proceed ! I 'm ready. 

Sul. 0, art thou ready to forgive, my brother f 
To pardon hiiu who found one single error. 
One little failing, 'mid a splendid throng 
Of glorious qualities — 

Mai. Ad 0, stay thee, Saladin ! 
I did not ask for life. I only wished 
To carry thy forgiveness to tne grave. 
No, Emperor, the loss of Cesarea 
Cries loudly for the blood of Malek Adhel. 
Thy soldiers, too, demand that he who lost 
What cost them many a weary hour to gain 
Should expiate his offences with his life. 
Lo ! even now they crowd to view my death, 
Thy just impartiality. I go ! 
Pleased by my fate to add one other leaf 
To thy proud wreath of glory. [Going.] 

Sal. Thou shalt not. [E7iter Atte?idant.] 

Atten. IMy lord, the troops assembled by your order 
Tumultuous throng the courts. The prince's death 
Not one of them but vows he will not sdfer. 
The mutes have fled ; the very guards rebel. 
Nor think I, in this city's spacious rcand, 
Can e'er be found a hand to do the office. 

Mai. Ad. 0, faithftil friends! [To Atten.] Thine ghalt 

Atten. Mine ? Never ! 
The other first shall lop it from the body. 

Sal. They ceach the Emperor his duty well. 
Tell them he thanks them for it. Tell them, too, 
Tliat ere their opposition reached our ears, 
Saladin had forgiven Malek Adhel. 

Atten. joyful news ! 
I haste to gladden many a gallant heart, 
And dry the tear on many a hardy cheek, 
Unused to such a visiter. [Exit.] 

Sal. These men, the meanest in society, 
The outcasts of the earth, — by war, by nature. 
Hardened, and rendered callous, — these, who claiiD 
No kindred with thee, — who have never heard 
Thd accents of affection from thy lips, — 

0, these can cast aside their vowed allegiance, 
Throw off their long obedience, risk their lives, 
To save thee from destruction ! While I, 

1, who cannot, in all my memory, 

Call back one danger which thou hast not shared 
One day of grief, one night of revelry, 

:i4 



580 THE STANDARD SPEAKEK. 

Which thy resistless kindness hath not soothed, 

Or thy gay smile and converse rendered sweeter, — 

I, who have thrice in the ensanguined field, 

When death seemed certain, only uiiered — " Brother I ' 

And seen that form l^^e lightning rush between 

SaJadin and his foes, and that brave breast 

Dauntless exposed to many a furious blow 

Intended for my own, — I could forget 

That 't was to thee I owed the very breath 

Which sentenced thee to perish ! 0, 't is shamefiil ? 

Thou canst not pardon me ! 

Mai. Ad. By these tears, I can ! 
0, brother ! from this very hour, a new, 
A glorious life commences ! I am all thine ! 
Again the day of gladness or of anguish 
Shall Malek Adhel share ; and oft again 
May this sword fence thee in the bloody field. 
Henceforth, Saladin, 
My heart, my soul, my sword, are thine forever ! 



44. DAMON TO THE SYRACUSANS. — /o/ln BantM. 

Are all content? 

A nation's rights betrayed, and all content '? 

What ! with your own free willing hands yield up 

The ancient fabric of your constitution. 

To be a garrison for common cut-throats 1 

What ! will ye all combine to tie a stone. 

Each to each other's neck, and di'own like dogs ? 

Are you so bound in fetters of the mind 

That there you sit, as if you were yourselves 

Incorporate with the marble ? Syracusans ! — 

But no ! I will not rail, nor chide, nor curse you ! 

I will implore you, fellow-countrymen. 

With blinded eyes, and weak and broken speech, 

I will implore you — ! I am weak in words, 

But I could bring such advocates before you ! 

Your fathers' sacred images ; old men, 

That have been grandsires ; women with their childreu 

Caught up in fear and hurry, in their arms ; — 

And those old men should lift their shivering voices 

And palsied hands, and those aiFrighted mothers 

Should hold their innocent infants forth, and ask, 

dan jou make slaves of them f 



PART NINTH 



COMIC AND SATIRICAL, 



Sn?KEU 01 SERGEANT RUZFUZ IN THE CASE OF BARBELL AGAIN*! 
PICKWICK. — CAar/es Dickens. 

"ioc heard from my learned friend, .Gentlemen of the Jury, that 
ihis is an action for a breach of promise of marriage, in which the 
damages are laid at fifteen hundred pounds. The plaintiiF, Gentlemen, 
US a widow ; yes, Gentlemen, a widow. The late JMr. Bardell, some time 
before his death, became the father. Gentlemen, of a little boy. With 
this little boy, the only pledge of her departed exciseman, Mrs. Bar- 
dell shrunk fi'om the world, and courted the retirement and tranquil- 
lity of Goswell-street ; and here she placed in her front parlor-window 
a written placard, bearing this inscription, — " x\partments furnished 
for a single gentleman. Inquire within." Mrs. Bardell's opinions 
of the opposite sex, Gentlemen, were derived from a long contempla- 
tion of the inestimable qualities of her lost husband. She had no 
fear, — she had no distrust, — all was confidence and reliance. " Mr. 
Bardell," said the widow, " was a man of honor, — Mr. Bardell was a 
man of his word, — Mr. Bardell was no deceiver, — Mr. Bardell was 
nnce a single gentleman himself; to single gentlemen I look for 
protection, for assistance, for comfort, and consolation ; — in single 
gentlemen I shall perpetually see something to remind me of what 
Mr. Bardell was, when he first won my young and untried affections ; 
to a single gentleman, then, shall my lodgings be let." Actuated by 
this beautiful and touching impulse (among the best impulses of our 
imperfect nature, Gentlemen), the lonely and desolate widow dried her 
tears, famished her first floor, caught her innocent boy to her maternal 
bosom, and put the bill up in her parlor-window. Did it remain 
there long ? No. The serpent was on the watch, the train was laid, 
the mine was preparing, tlie sapper and miner was at work ! Before 
the bill had been in the parlor-window three days, — three days, 
Gentlemen, — a being, erect upon two legs, and bearing all the out- 
ward semblance of a man, and not of a monster, knocked at the dooi 
of Mrs. Bardell's house ! He inquired within ; he took the lodgings 
and on the very next day he entered into possession of them. This 
man was I'ickwick, — Pickwick, tlie defendant ! 

Of this man I will say little. The subject presents but few attrac- 
tions ; and I, Gentlemen, am not the man, nor are jou, Gentlemeib, 



532 THE STANDATII> SPEAKER. 

che men, to delight in the contemplation of revoking heartlessne^, 
and of systematic v^illany. I say systematic villany, Gentlemen • and 
when I say systematic villany, let me tell the defendant, Pickwick, if 
ae be in Court, as I am informed he is, that it would have been mora 
decent in him, more becoming, if he had stopped away. Let me tell 
him, further, that a counsel, in his discharge of his duty, is neither to 
be intimidated, nor bidlied, nor put down ; and that any attempt to dc 
either the one or the other will recoil on the head of the attempter, bo 
he pKintiflP or be he defendant, be his name Pickwick, or Noakes, or 
Stoakes, or Stiles, or Brown, or Thompson. 

I shall show you, Gentlemen, that for two years Pickwick continued 
to reside constantly, and without interruption or intermission, at Mrs 
Bardell's house. I shall show you that Mrs. Bardell, during the 
whole of that time, waited on him, attended to his comforts, cooked 
his meals, looked out his linen for the washerwoman when it went 
abroad, darned, aired, and prepared it for wear when it came homO; 
and, in short, enjoyed his fullest trust and confidence. I shall show 
you that, on many occasions, he gave half-pence, and on some occasions 
even sixpence, to her little boy. I shall prove to you, that on one 
occasion, when he returned from the country, he distinctly and in 
terms offered her mari'iage : previously, however, taking special care 
that there should be no witnesses to their solemn contract ; and I am 
in a situation to prove to you, on the testimony of three of his own 
friends, — roost unwilling witnesses, Gentlemen, — most unwilling wit- 
nesses, — that on that morning he was discovered by them holding the 
plaintiiF in his arms, and soothing her agitation by his caresses and 
endearments. 

x\nd now. Gentlemen, but one word more. Two letters have 
passed between these parties, — letters that must be viewed with a 
cautious and suspicious eye, — letters that were evidently intended, at 
the time, by Pickwick, to mislead and delude any third parties into 
whose hand^ they might fall. Let me read the first : — " Garraway's, 
twelve o'clock. — Dear Mrs. B. — Chops and Tomato sauce. Yours, 
Pickwick." Gentlemen, what does this mean ? Chops and Tomato 
sauce ! Yours, Pickwick ! Chops ! Gracious Heavens ! And Tomato 
sauce ! Gentlemen, is the happiness of a sensitive and confiding 
female to be trifled away by such shallow artifices as these ? The 
nest has no date whatever, which is in itself suspicious. — " Dear Mrs. 
B., I sliall not be at home to-morrow. Slow coach." And then follows 
tnis very remarkable expression, — " Don't trouble yourself about the 
\varming-pan." The warming-pan ! Why, Gentlemen, who does 
trouble himself about a warming-pan ? Why is Mrs. Bardell so 
earnestly entreated not to agitate herself about tliis warming-pan, 
unless (as is no doubt the case) it is a mere cover for hidden fire — a 
mere substitute for some endearing word or promise, agreeably to a 
preconcerted system of correspondence, artfully contrived by Pickwick 
with a view to his contempla' d desertion ? And what does this alia- 
«ion to the slow coach mean ' For aught I know, it may be a refer«>no« 



C^MIC AND SATIRICAL. Hww. 53' 

to Pickwick himself, who has most unquostionably been a criminally 
slow coach during the whole of this transaction, but whose speed will 
now be very unexpectedly accelerated, and whose wheels, Gentlemen. 
SiS he will find to his cost, will very soor be greased by you ! 

But enough of tliis, Gentlemen. It is difficult to smile with an 
aching heart. My client's hopes and prospects are ruined, and it is 
no figure of speech to say that her occupation is gone indeed. Tlie 
bill is down — but there is no tenant! E]igil)le single gentlemen pass 
and repass — but there is no invitation for them to inquire within, or 
without ! All is gloom and silence in the house ; even the voice of 
the child is hushed ; his infant sports are disregarded, when his mother 
weeps. But Pickwick, Gentlemen, Pickwick, the ruthless desrroyer -jf 
this domestic oasis in the desert of GoswcU-street, — Pickwick, who has 
choked up the well, and thrown ashes on the sward, — Pickwick, who 
comes before you to-day with his heartless tomato-sauce and warming- 
pans, — Pickwick still rears his head with unblushing effrontery,' and 
gazes without a sigh on the ruin he has made ! Damages, Gentlemen, 
heavy damages, is the only punishment with which you can visit 
him, — the only recompense you can award to my client ! And for 
those damages she now appeals to an enlightened, a high-minded, a 
right-feeling, a conscientious, a dispassionate, a sympathizing, a con- 
templative Jury of her civilized countrymen ! 

2. THE ART OF BOOK-KEEPING. — Thamns Hood. Eorn, 1798 ; di^d, 1845. 

How hard, when those who do not wish to lend, thus lose, their books, 
Are snared by anglers, — folks that fish with literary Hooks, — 
Who call and take some favorite tome, but never read it through ; — 
They thus complete their set at home, by making one at you. 

I, of my " Spenser " quite bereft, last winter sore was shaken ; 
Of " Lamb " I 've but a quarter left, nor could I save my " Bacon ,'' 
And then I saw my " Crabhe," at last, like Hamlet, backward go ; 
And, as the tide was ebbing fast, of course I lost my " Howe." 

My " Mallet " served to knock me down, which makes me thus a 

talker ; 
And once, when I was out of town, my "Johnson " proved a " Walker." 
While studying, o'er the fire, one day, my " Hobbes," amidst the smoke. 
They bore ray " Colman " clean away, and carried off my " Coke. ' 

They picked my " Locke," to me fiir more than Bramah's patent worth, 
And now my losses I deplore, without a " Home " on earth. 
If once a book you let them lift, another they conceal, 
For though I caught them stealing " Swift," as swiftly went mj 
" Steele " 

' Hope " is not now upon my shelf, where late he stood elated , 
But what is strange, my " Pope " himself is excommunicated. 
JJy little " Suck'ing " in the grave is sunk to swell the ravage; 
Ajid what was Crusoe's fate to save, 't was mme to lose, — a " Savage. ' 



{>34 l-HE STANDARD SIEAKER. 

Even ' Glovers " works I cannot put my frozen ban is upon : 
Though ever since I lost my " Foote/' my " Bunyan " has been gone 
My "Iloyle" with "Cotton" went oppressed; my "Taylor," tot 

must fail ; , 

To save my " Goldsmith " from arrest, in vain T offered " Bayle, ' 

I " T*rior " sought, but could not see the " Hood " so late in front; 
A.nd when I turned to hunt for " Lee," ! where was my " Leigi 

Hunt"? 
I tried to laugh, old care to tickle, yet could not " Tickle " touch ; 
And then, alack ! I missed my " Mickle," — and surely Mickle 's much 

'T is quite enough my griefs to feed, my sorrows to excuse, 

To think I cannot read my " Reid," nor even use my " Hughes; " 

JMy classics would not quiet lie, a thing so fondly hoped ; 

Like Dr. Primrose, I may cry, my " Livy " has eloped. 

My life is ebbing fast away ; I suffer from these shocks. 
And though I fixed a lock on " Gray," there's gray upon my locks, 
I 'm far from " Young," am growing pale, I see my " Butler " fly ; 
And when they ask about my ail, 't is " Burton " I reply. 

They still have made me slight returns, and thus my griefs divide ; 
For ! they cured me of my " Burns," and eased my " Akenside." 
But all I think I shall not say, nor let my anger burn. 
For, as they never found me " Gay," they have not left me " Sterne. 



THE MAGPIE AND THE MONKEY. — Frtar^e. Born, 1760; died, 17P1. 

" Dear Madam, I pray," quoth a Magpie, one day, 

To a Monkey, who happened to come in her way, — 

" If you '11 but come with me 

To my snug little home in the trunk of a tree, 

I '11 show you such treasures of art and vertu, 

Such articles, old, medieeval, and new. 

As a lady of taste and discernment like you 

Will be equally pleased and astonished to view ; — • 

In an oak-tree hard by I have stowed all these rarities ; 

And if you '11 come with me, I '11 soon you show where it is 

The Monkey agreed at once to proceed, 

And, hopping along at the top of her speed, 

To keep up with the g^iide, who flew by her side, 

As eager to show as the other to see, 

Presently came to the old oak-tree : 

When, from a hole in its mighty bole, 

[n which she had cunningly hidden the whole, 

One by one the Magpie drew. 

And displayed her hoard to the Monkey's view : 

A buckle of brass, some bits of glass, 

A ribbon dropped by a gypsy lass ; 



COMIC AND SATIRICAL. — TRIARTE. b'S& 

A. tattered handkerchief edged with lace, 

The haft of a knife, and a tooth-pick case ; 

A.n inch or so of Cordelier's rope, 

A very small take of Castilian soap, 

-Vnd a medal blessed by the holy Pope ; 

Half a cigar, tlie neck of a jar, 

A couple of pegs from a cracked guitar ; 

Beads, buttons and rings, and other odd things, 

And such as my hearers would think me an ass. if I 

Tried to enumerate fully or classify. 

At last, having gone, one by one, through the whole, 

And carefully packed them again in the hole, 

Alarmed at the pause, and not without caws, 

The Magi^ie looked anxiously down for applause. 

The monkey, meanwhile, with a shrug and a smile. 

Having silently eyed the contents of the pile, 

And found them, in fact, one and all, very vile, 

Resolved to depart ; and was making a start. 

When, observing the movement with rage and dismay. 

The Magpie addressed her, and pressed her to stay : 

" What, sister, 1 pray, have you nothing to say, 

In return for the sight that I 've shown you to-day ? 

Not a syllable ? — hey ? I 'm surprised ! — well I may, -~ 

That so fine a collection, with nothing to pay, 

Should be treated in such a contemptuous way. 

I looked for applause, as a matter of right. 

And certainly thought that you 'd prove more polite." 

At length, when the Magpie had ceased to revile, 

The Monkey replied, with a cynical smile : 

" Well, Ma'am, since my silence oiTends you," said she, 

" I '11 frankly confess that such trifles possess, 

Though much to your taste, no attraction for me; 

For though, like yourself, a collector of pelf. 

Such trash, ere I 'd touch, it, might rot on a shelf; 

And I 'd not, by Saint Jago, out of my way go 

A moment to pick up so vile a farrago. 

To the digging of roots, and the prigging of fruits, 

I strictly confine my industrial pursuits ; 

And whenever I happen to find or to steal 

More than will serve for a modei-ate meal, — 

For my appetite 's small, and I don't eat a deal, - 

In the pouches or craws which hang from my jaws 

And which I contract or distend at my pleaauro, 

I safely deposit the rest of my treasure, 

And carry it home, to be eaten at leisure. 

In sho-'t. Ma'am while you collect rubbish and rags, — 

A mass of chiffonerie not worth possessing, • — 



586 THE STANDARD SPEAKBK. 

I gather for use, and replenish my bags 
With things that are really a comfort and blessing, 
A reserve, if I need them, for future subsistence, 
Adapted to lengthen and sweeten existence." 

The Monkey's reply — for I must, if I 'm able 
Elicit some practical hint from the fable — 
Suited the Magpie, and suits just as well any 
Quarterly, monthly, or weekly miscellany, 
Whose contents exhibit so often a hash. 
Oddly compounded, of all kinds of trash, 
That I wonder, whenever I chance to inspect them, 
How editors have the bad taste to select them. 



RICH MAN AND THE POOR. — Translated, by Dr. Bowring, from tkt Hm 
sian of Khe.mnitzer. 

So goes the world; if wealthy, you may call 
This friend, that brother, friends and brothers all ; 

Though you are worthless, witless, never mind it ; 
Fou may have been a stable-boy, — what then ? 
'T is wealth, good Sir, makes honorable men. 

You seek respect, no doubt, and you will find it. 
But if you 're poor, Heaven help you ! though your sire 

Had royal blood within him, and though you 

Possessed the intellect of angels, too, 
T is all in vain ; — the world will ne'er inquire 

On such a score ; — why should it take the pains ? 

'T is easier to weigh pui-ses, sure, than brains. 
I once saw a poor fellow, keen and clever. 

Witty and wise ; — he paid a man a visit, 
And no one noticed him, and no one ever 

Gave him a welcome. " Strange ! " cried I ; " whence IB ll? 
He walked on this side, then on that, 
He tried to introduce a social chat ; 

Now here, now there, in vain he tried ; 

Some formally and freezingly replied, 
And some 
Said, by their silence, " Better stay at home 
A rich man burst the door, 
As Crossus rich, I 'm sure 
He wuld not pride himself upon his wit j 
And as for wisdom, he had none of it ; 
He had what 's better, — he had wealth, 

What a confusion ! — all stand up erect ; 
These crowd around to ask him of his healtfe 

These bow in honest duty and respect ; 
And these arrange a sofa or a cha'r, 
And these conduct Mm there. 



COMIC AND SATIRICAL. PIEBPONT, 

" Allow me, Sir, the honor I " — then a bow 
Down to tlie earth. Is 't possible to shew 
Meet gratit ude for such kind condescension ? 

The i>oor man hung his head. 

And to himself he said, 
** This is, indeed, beyond mj comprehension ! " 

Then looking round, 

One friendly face he found, 
And said, " Pray tell me, why is wealth preferred 

To wisdom ? " — " That 's a silly question, friend 
Replied the other; " have you never heard 

A man may lend his store 

Of gold or silver ore, 
But wisdom none can borrow, none can lend i 



687 



%. WHITTLINQ— A YANKEE WJiTB.AVr. — Rev. J. Pierpont. 

The Yankee boy, before he 's sent to school, 

Well knows the mysteries of that magic tool, 

The pocket-knife. To that his wistful eye 

Turns, while he hears his mother's lullaby ; 

His hoarded cents he gladly gives to get it, 

Then leaves no stone unturned till he can whet it „ 

And in the education of the lad 

No little part that implement hath had. 

His pocket-knife to the young whittler brings 

A growing knowledge of material things. 

Projectiles, music, and the sculptor's art. 

His chestnut whistle and his shingle dart, 

His elder pop-gun with its hickory rod, 

Its sharp explosion and rebounding wad, 

His corn-stalk fiddle, and the deeper tone 

That murmurs from his pumpkin-stalk trombone, 

Conspire to teach the boy. To these succeed 

His bow, his arrow of a feathered reed, 

His wind-mill, raised the passing breeze to win, 

His water-wheel, that turns upon a pin ; 

Or, if his father lives upon the shore, 

You '11 see his ship, " beam ends upon the floor,'' 

Full rigged, with raking masts, and timbers staon^^ 

And waiting, near the wash-tub, for a launch. 

Thus, by his genius and his jack-knife driven 
Ere long he '11 solve you any problem given ? 
Make any jim-crack, musical or mute, 
A plough, a couch, an organ or a flute ; 
Make you a loc-omotive or a clock. 



!j38 the standakd speaker. 

Cut a canal, or build a floating-dock, 

Or lead forth Beauty from a marble block ; — 

Make anytliing, in short, for sea or shore, 

From a child's rattle to a seventy- tour ; — 

Make it, said I ? — Ay, when he undertakes it. 

He '11 make the thing and the machine that makes ti 

And when the thing is made, — whether it be 
To move on earth, in air, or on the sea ; 
Whether on water, o'er the waves to glide, 
Or, upon land to roll, revolve, or slide ; 
Whether to whirl or jar, to strike or ring. 
Whether it be a piston or a spring, 
Wheel, pulley, tube sonorous, wood or brass, 
The thing designed shall surely come to pass; 
For, -phen his hand 's upon it, you may know 
That there 's go in it, and he 'U make it go. 



6. CITY MEN IN THE COUNTRY. — Ohuer JVendell Holme* 

Come back to your mother, ye children, for shame, 
Who have wandered like truants for riches or fame ! 
With a smile on her face and a sprig in her cap, 
She calls you to feast from her bountiful lap. 

Come out from your alleys, your courts, and your ldiK«, 
And breathe, like young eagles, the air of our plains ; 
Take a whiff from our fields, and your excellent wives 
Will declare it 's all nonsense insuiing your lives. 

Come you of the law, who can talk, if you please, 
Till the man in the moon will allow it 's a cheese, 
And leave " the old lady that never tells lies " 
To sleep with her handkerchief over her eyes. 

Ye healers of men, for a moment decline 

Your feats in the rhubarb and ipecac line ; 

While you shut up your turnpike, your neighbors can g( 

The old roundabout road to the regions below. 

You clerk, on whose ears are a couple of pens, 
And whose head is an ant-hill of units and tens, 
Though Plato denies you, we welcome you still 
As a featherless biped, in spite of your quill. 

Poor drudge of the city ! how happy he feels 

Witli the burrs on his legs and the grass at his heels. 

No dodger behind, his bandannas to share, — 

No constable grumbling, " You must n't walk there ' " 



COMIC* AND SATIRICAJ.. 639 

[n yondtr green meadow, to Memor} dear, 

He slaps a mosquito and brushes a tear ; 

The dew-drops hang round hhn on blossoms and shoota, — 

Ho breathes but one sigh for his youth and his boots. 

There stands the old school -house, hard by the old church; 
That tree at its side had the flavor of birch : 
0, sweet were the days of his juvenile tricks, 
Though the prairie of youth had so many "big licks !" 

By the side of yon river he weeps and he slumps, 
The boots fill with water, as if they were pumps ; 
Till, sated with rapture, he steals to his bed, 
With a glow in his heart and a cold in his head. 

T is past, — he is dreaming, — I see him again ; 
The ledger returns as by legerdemain ; 
His neckcloth is damp with an easterly flaw. 
And he holds in his iingei-s an omnibus straw. 

He dreams the chill gust is a blossomy gale. 
That the straw is a rose from his dear native vale , 
And murmurs, unconscious of space and of time, 
" A. 1. -^ Extra super. — Ah, is n't it prime ! " 

0, what are the prizes we perish to win. 

To the first little " shiner " we caught with a pin ! 

No soil upon earth is as dear to our eyes 

As the soil we first stirred in jterrestrial pies ! 

Then come from all parties, and parts, to our feast ; 
Though not at the " Astor," we'll give you, at least, 
A bite at an apple, a seat on the grass, 
And the best of old — water — at nothing a glass. 



7. FUSS AT FIKES. — Anonymous. 

It having been announced to me, my young friends, that yon 
were about forming a fire-company, I have called you lugethej 
to give you such directions as long experience in a first-qualitv 
engine company qualifies me to communicate. The moment yot 
hear an alarm of fire, scream like a pair of panthers. Run anj 
way, except the right way, — for the furthest way round is the nearest 
way to the fire. If you happen to run on the top of a wood-pile, so 
much the better you can then get a good view of the neighborhood. 
If a light breaks on your view, " break " for it immediately ; but be 
Bure you don't jump into a bow window. Keep yelling, all tha time; 
and, if you can''', make night hideous enough yourself, kick all the 
logs you come acn-oss, and set them yelling, too ; 't will help amazingly. 
A brace of cats dragged up sta-irs by the tail would be a " j.K>werfuj 



540 THE STANDARD SPEAKER, 

auxiliary." Wtea you reach tlie scene of the fire, u'o all you can U 
convert it into a scene of destruction. Tear down all the fences in 
the vicinity. If it be a chimney on fire, throw salt down it ; or, if 
you can't do that, perhaps the best plan would be to jerk off the 
pump-handle and pound it down. Don't forget to yell, all the while, 
as it will have a prodigious effect in frightening off the fire. The 
louder the better of course ; and the more ladies in the vicinity, the 
greater necessity for " doing it brown." Should the roof begin to 
smoke, get to work in good earnest, and make any man " smoke " that 
mterrupts you. If it is summer, and there are fruit-trees in the lot. 
cut them down, to prevent the fire from roasting the apples. Dori'l 
forget to yell ! Should the stable be threatened, carry out the cow- 
chains. IN ever mind the horse, — he '11 be alive and kicking ; and if 
his legs don'i do their duty, let them pay for the roast. Ditto as to 
the hogs ; — let them save their own bacon, or smoke for it. When 
the roof begins to burn, get a crow-bar and pry away the stone steps ' 
or, if the steps be of wood, procure an axe and chop them up. Next, 
cut away the wash-boards in the basement story ; and, if that don't 
stop the flames, let the chair-boards on the first floor share a similar 
fate. Should the " devouring element " still pursue the " even tenor 
of its way," you had better ascend to the second story. Pitch out 
the pitchers, and tumble out the tumblers. Yell all the time ! 

If you find a baby abed, fling it into the second 'story window of 
the house across the way ; but let the kitten carefully down in a 
work-basket. Then draw out the bureau drawers, and empty their 
contents out of the back window ; telling somebody below to upset 
the slop-barrel and rain-water hogshead at the same time. Of course, 
you will attend to the mirror. The further it can be thrown, the 
more pieces will be made. If anybody objects, smash it over his 
head. Do not, under any circumstances, drop the tongs down from 
the second story : the fall might break its legs, and render the poor 
thing a cripple for life. Set it straddle of your shoulders, and carry- 
it down carefully. Pile the bed-clothes carefully on the floor, and 
throw the crockery out of the window. By the time you wiU have 
a*-<^f>nrled to all these things, the fire will certainly be arrested, or the 
baiiOing be burnt down. In either case, your services will be nc 
longer needed ; and, of course, you require no further directions. 



8. ONE STORY 'S GOOD TILL ANOTHER IS TOLD. — Charle.s Swain 

There 's a maxim that all should be willing to mind ; 

'T is an old one, a kind one, and true as 't is kind ; 

'T is worthy of notice wherever you roam, 

And no worse for the heart, if remembered at home ! 

If scandal or censure be raised 'gainst a friend; 

Be the last to believe it — the first to defend ' 

Say', to-morrow will come — and then time will unfold 

That " one story 's good till another is told ! " 



COMIC A\D SATIRICAL * 64J 

A friend 's like a ship, when, with musi; and songj 
The tide of good fortune still speeds him along ; 
But see hira when tempest hath left him a wreck, 
And anj ifiean billow can batter his deck ! 
Then give me the heart that true sympathy shows, 
And clings to a messmate, whatever wind blowf • 
And says, — when aspersion, unanswered, grows cold, ■ 
Wait ; — " one story 's good till another is told ! " 



9. THE GREAT MUSICAL CRITIC. — Original translation. 

Once on a time, the Nightingale, whose singing 

Had with her praises set the forest ringing. 

Consented at a concert to appear. 

Of course, her friends all flocked to hear. 

And with them many a critic, wide awake 

To pick a flaw, or carp at a mistake ! 

She sang as only nightingales can sing; 

And when she 'd ended, 
There was a general cry of " Bravo ! splendid ' " 

While she, poor thing, 
Abashed and fluttering, to her nest retreated, 
Quite terrified to be so warmly greeted. 
The Turkeys gobbled their delight ; the Geese, 
. Who had been known to hiss at many a trial, 

Gave this one no denial : 
It seemed as if the applause would never cease. 

But, 'mong the critics on the ground, 

An Ass was present, pompous and profound. 

Who said, " My friends, I '11 not dispute the honor, 

That you would do our little prima donna. 

Although her upper notes are very shrill, 

And she defies all method in her triH, 

She has some talent, and, upon the whole, 

With study, may some cleverness attain. 

Then, her friends tell me, she 's a virtuous soul ; 

But — but — " 

" But," growled the Lion, " by my mane, 

I never knew an Ass who did not strain 

To qualify a good thing with a but ! " 

" Nay," said the Goose, approaching, with a stn'\ 

" Don't interrupt hiin, sij-e ; pray let it pass, 

The Ass is honest, if he is an Ass ! " 

" 1 was about," said Long Ear, " to remark. 
That there is something lacking in her whistle , - 

Something magnetic, — 

To waken chords and feelings sympatbatjo 



D42 the standard speakkk. 

And kindle in the breast a spark 

Like — like, for instance, a good juicy thistle.** 

. The assembly tittered, but the Fox, with gravity, 

Said, at the Lion winking, 
" O-ur learned friend, with his accustomed suavity, 

Has given his opinion, without shrinkiap' ' 
But, to do justice to the Nightingale, 

He should inform us, as no doubt he wUlj 
What sort of music 't is that does not fail 

His sensibilities to rouse and thrill." 

" Why," said the critic, with a look potential, 
And pricking up his ears, delighted much 

At Reynard's tone and manner deferential, — 
" Why, Sir, there 's nothing can so deeply touch 

My feelings, and so carry me away, 

As a fine, mellow, ear-inspiring bray." 

" I thought so," said the Pox, without a pause ; 

" As far as you 're concerned, your judgment 's true , 
You do not like the Nightingale, because 

The Nightingale is not an Ass like you ! " 



10. DRAMATIC STYLES. — Blackwood's Mag. 

In dramatic writing, the difference between the Grecian and Roman 
styles is very great. When you deal with a Greek subject, you must 
be very devout, and have unbounded reverence for Diana of the Ephe- 
sians. You must also believe in the second sight, and be as solemn, 
calm, and passionless, as the ghost of Hamlet's father. Never descend 
to" the slightest familiarity, nor lay off the stilts for a moment ; and, far 
from calling a spade a spade, call it 

That sharp instrument 

With which the Theban husbandman lays bare 

The breast of our great mother. 

The Roman, on the other hand, may occasionally be jocular, but 
always warlike. One is like a miracle-play in church ; — the other, 
tk tableau viva.nt in a camp. If a Greek has occasion to ask his sweet« 
beart " if her mother knows she 's out," and " if she has sold her mangk 
yet," he ^ya : 

Mmentheus. Cieanthe ! 

Cleanthe. My Lord ! 

Men. Your mother, — your kind, excellent motber, ■ 
iJie who hung o'er your couch in infancy. 
And felt within her heart the joyous pride 
Of having such a daughter, — does she Isnow, 
Sweetest Cleanthe ! that you 've left the shade 
Of the maternal walls '! 

Cle. She does, my Lord. 

Men, And, — but I scarce can ask the q aeation, — when 
I last beheld her 'gainst the whitened wall 



COMIC AND SATIRICAL HOKACE SMITH. 548 

Stood a strong engine, flat, and broad, and heavy; 
Its entrail stones, and moved on mighty rollers, 
'Rendering the crisped web as smooth and soft 
As wiiitest snow. — That engine, sweet Cleantje, 
Pit pedestal for household deity, — 
Lares and old Penates ; — has she 't still 1 
Or for gold bribes has she disposed of it 1 
I fain would know ; — pray tell me, is it sold ' 

The Roman goes quicker to work : 

Tell me, my Julia, does your mother know 
You 're out ^ and has she sold her mangle yet ! 

The Composite, or Elizabethan, has a smack of both : 

Conradin. Ha ! Celia here \ Come hither, pretty ODB^ 
Thou hast a mother, child \ 

Celia. Most people have. Sir. 

Con. I' faith thou 'rt sharp, — thou hast a biting wit; 
But does this mother, — this epitome 
Of what all other people are possessed of, — 
Knows she thou 'rt out, and gaddingl 

Cel. No, net gadding ! 
Out, sir; she knows I 'm out. 

Crm. She had a mangle; 
Faith, 't was a huge machine, and smoothed the web 
Like snow. I 've seen it oft; — it was, indeed, 
A right good mangle. 

Cel. Then thou 'rt not in thought 
To buy it, else thou would not praise it so. 

Con. A parlous child ! keen as the cold North wind^ 
fet light as Zephyrs. No, no; I 'd not buy it; 
But has she sold it, ■child 1 

'I 

^ j 

U THE GOUTY MERCHANT AND THE STRANGER. — Horoce Smith. i 

In Broad-street buildings (on a winter night), 
Snug by his parlor fire, a gouty wight 

Sat, all alone, with one hand rubbing 
His feet, rolled up in fleecy hose ; 
With t' other he 'd beneath his nose 

The Public Ledger, in whose columns grubbing, 
He noted all the sales of hops, 
Ships, shops, and slops. 
Gums, galls, and groceries, ginger, gin, 
Tar, tallow, tumeric, turpentine, and tin ; 
When, lo ! a decent personage in black 

Entered, and most politely said, — 
*' Your footman, Sir, has gone his nightiv track 

To the King's Head, 

And left your door ajar, which I 
Observed in passing by ; 
And thought it neighborly to give you notice " 

" Ten thousand thanks ! " the gouty man replwjd • 

" You see, good Sir, how to my chair 1 'm tied -- 

Ten thousand thanks ! — how very few get, 



544 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

In time of danger, 

Such kind attentions from a stranger' 
Assuredly that footman's throat is 

Doomed to a final drop at Newgate • 
And he well knows (the heedless elf!) 
That there 's no soul at home, except myself.' 

" Indeed ! " replied the stranger, looking gfaT© 

" Then he 's a double knave : 
He knows that rogues and thieves, by scores, 
Nightly beset ungijiarded doors ; 
And see, how easily might one 
Of these domestic foes, 
Even beneath your very nose, 

Perform his knavish tricks : 
Enter your room, as I have done ; 
Blow out your candles, — thus, and thus, — 

Pocket your silver candlesticks. 
And walk oiF, — thus ! " • 
So said, so done ; — he made no more remark, 

Nor waited for replies, 

But marched off with his prize, 
Leaving the gouty merchant in the dark ! 



la THE VICTIM OF REFORM. — Blackwood's Mas-a^ine. 

A MONKEY, once, whom fate had led to list 
To all the rancorous spouting and contention 
Of a convention 
For every one's emancipation 
From every thing and body in creation, 
Determined in the good work to assist. 
So, with some curious notions in his noddle, 
And conning portions of the precious twaddle 
Which, in the form of resolutions, 
Had struck at all existing ipstitutions. 
He strode forth with a step that seemed designed 
To represent the mighty march of mind. 
Not far he 'd wandered, when his indignation 
Was roused to see 
A great menagerie, 
"^Tiere birds and beasts of every race and station 
All free-born animals, were kept confined. 
Caged and locked up in durance vile ! 
It was a sight to waken all his bile. 

The window of the building stood ajar ; 
It was not far, 

Nor, like Parnassus, very hard to climb 
The hour was verging on the supper tinaa 



COMIC AXD SATTRTCAL. MtS 

And many a growl was sent through rr.any a hai 

Meanwhile, Pug scrambled upward, like a tar, 

And soon crept in, 

Unnoticed in the hunger-telling din. 

Full of his new emancipating zeal, 

Zounds! how it made him chafe, — 
To look around upon this brute Bastille, 

And see the King of creatures in — a safe ? 
Fhe desert's denizen in one small den, 

Enduring all oppression's bitterest ills 
A bear in bars unbearable ; and then, 

The fretful porcupine, with all its quills, 
Imprisoned in a pen ! 
A tiger limited to four feet ten ; 
And, stil worse lot, a leopard to one spot .' 

Pug went above, a solitary mounter, — 
Up gloomy stairs, and saw a pensive group 

Of hapless fowls, cranes, vultures, owls, — 

In fact, it was a sort of poultry-counter. 

Where feathered prisoners were doomed to droop J 
Here sat an eagle, forced to make a stoop, 

Not from the skies, but his impending roof; 

And there, aloof, 

A pining ostrich, moping in a coop, 

With other samples of the bird creation 
All caged against their wills, 
And cramped in such a space, the loBgest bills 

Were plainly bills of least accommodation ; — 

In truth, it was a scene more foul than fair. 

His tamper little mended, 

Pug from his bird-cage walk at last descended 

Unto the lion and the elephant, 

His bosom in a pant 

To see all Nature's free list thus suspended. 

And beasts deprived of what she had intended. 

They could not even prey in their own way, — 

A hardship always reckoned quite prodigious. 
Thus he revolved, and finally resolved 

To give them freedom, civil and religious , 
And first, with stealthy paw, Pug hastened to withdrau 
The bolt that kept the King of brutes within. 
" Now, Monarch of the forest, thou shalt win 
Precious enfranchisement, — thy bolts are undone 

Thou ait no longer a degraded crfjature, 

But loose to roam with liberty and nature; 
Fit3e to search all the jungles about London." 
3.^ 



S46 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

Alas for Freedom, and for Freedom's horo ! 

Alas for liberty of life and limb ! 
For Pug had only half unbolted Nero, 

When Nero bolted him ! 



JS. TIS NOT FINE FEATHERS THAT MAKE FINE BISDA 

A Peacock came, with his plumage gay. 
Strutting in regal pride, one day, 
Where a little bird hung in a gilded cage, 
Whose song might a seraph's ear engage. 
The bird sang on, while the peacock stood, 
Vaunting his plumes to the neighborhood; 
And the radiant sun seemed not more bright 
Than the bird that basked in his golden light ; 
But the little bird sang, in his own sweet words, 
" 'T is not fine feathers that make fine birds ! " 

The peacock strutted ; — a bird so fair 

Never before had ventured there, 

While the small bird hung at the cottage door — 

And what could a peacock wish for more ? 

Alas ! the bird of the rainbow wing. 

He was n't contented, — he tried to sing ! 

And they who gazed on his beauty bright, 

Scared by his screaming, soon took to flight ; 

While the little bird sang, in his own sweet words. 

" 'T is not fine feathers that make fine birds i " 
Then, prithee, take warning, maidens fair, 
And still of the peacock's fate beware ; 
Beauty and wealth won't win your way, 
Though they 're attired in plumage gay ; 
Something ^o charm you aU must know, 
Apart from fine feathers and outward show ; — 
A talent, a grace, a gift of mind, 
Or else small beauty is left behind ! 

W^hile the little birds sing, in their own true wordft 

* T is not fine feathers that make fine birds ! " 



' 4. THE CULPRIT AND THE JUDGE. —Horace SmUk 

A Gascon, who had long pursued 

The trade of clipping 
And filing the similitude 

Of good King Pepin. 
Was caught by the police, who found ^ub 

With file and scissors m his hand. 

And ounces of Pactolian ^dd 
Lying around him. 



COMTC ANI/ SATIRICAL. — HORACE SMITH. 1)4? 

The case admitting no denial, 
They hurried him forthwith to trial ; 
When the Judge made a long oration 
About the crime of profanation, 
And gave no resi)ite for repentance, 
But instantly pronounced his sentence — 

" Decapitation! "■- 
" As to oiFending powers divine," 

The culprit cried, " be nothing said ; 
Yours is a deeper guilt than mine. 

I took a portion from the head 
Of the King's image : you, fearful odds ' 
Strike the whole head at once from God's ! " 



1&. THE JESTER CONDEMNED TO DEATH. — Horace Smith. 

One of the Kings of Scanderoon, a royal jester, had in his train a 
gross buffoon, who used to pester the court with tricks inopportune, 
venting on the highest folks his scurvy pleasantries and hoaxes. It 
needs some sense to play the fool ; which wholesome rule occurred not 
to our jackanapes, who consequently found his freaks lead to iniiumer- 
able scrapes, and quite as many kicks and tweaks ; which only made 
him faster try the patience of his master. 

Some sin, at last, beyond all measure, incurred the desperate dis- 
pleasure of his serene and raging Highness. Whether the wag had 
twitched his beard, which he. was bound to have revered, or had 
intruded on the shyness of the seraglio, or let fly an epigram at 
royalty, none knows — his sin was an occult one ; but records tell us 
that the Sultan, meaning to terrify the knave, exclaimed, " 'T is 
lime to stop that breath ! Thy doom is sealed, presumptuous slave ! 
Thou stand'st condemned to certain death ! Silence, base rebel ! no 
replying. But such is my indulgence still, that, of my own free 
gi-ace and will, I leave to thee the mode of dying." " Your royal 
will be done ; 't is just," replied the wretch, and kissed the dust ; 
" since, my last moments to assuage, your majesty's humane decree 
has deigned to leave the choice to me, I '11 die, so please you. of old 



16. the poet and the AhClimil^. — ffoTace Smith. 

Before this present golden age of writers, a Grub-street Garreteer 
existed, one of the regular inditers of odes and poems to be twisted 
mto encomiastic verses, for patrons who have heavy purses. Besides 
the bellman's rhymes, he had others to let, both gay and sad, all tick- 
eted from A to Izzard ; and, living by his wits, I need not add, the 
rogue was lean as any lizard. Like a rope-maker's were his ways ; 
tor still one line upon another he spun, and, like his hempen brother, 
fcept going backwards all his days. Hard by his attic lived a chemist, 
pr alchemist, who had a mighty faith in the Elixir Vitae ; and, though 



&48 THE STANDARD SPEAKEB. 

unflattererl by +he dimmest glimpses of success, kept gropijg aiwi 
grubbing in his dark vocation ; stupidly hoping to find the art of 
changing metals, and guineas coin from pots and kettles, by mysterj 
,')f transmutation. 

Our"starving poet took occasion to seek this conjuror's abode ; not 
with encomiastic ode, or laudatory dedication, but with an offer to 
impart, for twenty pounds, the secret art, which should procure, with. 
ijjjl out tliu pain of metals, chemistry and fire, what he so long had sought 

'ill! in vain, and gratify his heart's desire. The money paid, our bard 

was hurried to the philosopher's sanctoi'um : who, somewhat sublimized, 
and flurried out of his chemical decorum, crowed, capered, giggled, 
seemed to spurn his crucibles, retort and furnace, and cried, as he 
jljlj secured the door, and carefully put to the shutter : " Now, now, the 

|i| secret, I implore ! For Heaven's sake, speak, discover, utter ! " With 

grave and solemn air, the Poet cried : " List ! 0, list ! for thus 1 
show it : — Let this plain truth those ingrates strike, who still, though 
blessed, new blessings crave : that we may all have what we like, sim- 
ply hy liking what we have ! " 



17. BLINDMAN'S BVF¥. —Horace Smitk. 

Three wags (whom some fastidious carpers might rather 
three sharpers) entered, at York, the Cat and "Fiddle ; and, finding 
that the host was out on business for two hours or more, while Sam, 
the rustic waiter, wore the visage of a simple lout, whom they might 
safely try to diddle, — they ordered dinner in a canter, — cold or hot, 
it mattered not, provided it was served instanter ; and, as the heat 
had made them very dry and dusty in their throttles, they bade the 
waiter bring three bottles of prime old Port, and one of Sherry. 
Sam ran with ardor to the larder, then to the kitchen ; and, as he 
briskly went to work, he drew from the spit a roasted turkey, with 
sausages embellished, which in a trice upon the board was spread, 
together- with a nice, cold brisket ; nor did he even obliviscate half a 
pig's head. To these succeeded pudding-s, pies, custards and jellies 
all doomed to fall a sacrifice to their insatiable bellies ; as if, like cam- 
els, they intended to stuff into their monstrous craws enough to satisfy 
their maws, until their pilgrimage was ended. Talking, laughing, 
eating and quafiing, the bottles stood no moment still. They rallied 
Sam with joke and banter, and, as they drained the last decanter, 
ealled for the bill. 

'T was brought, — when one of them, who eyed and added up the 
iteuio, cried, — " Extremely moderate, indeed ! I '11 make a point to 
reconnnend this inn to every travelling friend ; and you, Sam, shall 
be doubly fee'd." This said, a weighty purse he drew, when his com- 
panion interposed : — " Nay, Harry, that vail never do ; pray Isi 
your purse again be closed ; you paid all charges yesterday ; 't is 
clearly now my turn to pay." Harry, however, would n't listen tfl 
any such insulting offer ; his generous eyes appeared to glisten, India 



COMTC kW SATIRICAL. HORACE SMITH. 04^ 

tant at the fery proffer ; and, though his friend talked loud, hia 
clangor served but to aggravate Hal's anger. " My worthy fiellow," 
cried the third, " now, reuUy, this 's too absurd. What ! do both of 
you ibrget. I havo n't paid a fartning, yet ? Am I eternally to cram, 
B.t your expense ? 'T is chiidish, ([uite. I claim this payment as mj 
right. Here, how much is the money, Sam ? " 

To this most rational proposal, tlie others gave such fierce negation, 
one might liave fancied they were foes, all ; so hot became the alterca- 
tion, each in his purse his money rattling, insisting, arguing and batr 
tling. One of them cried, at last : — "A truce ! This point we 
will no longer moot. Wrangling for trifles is no use ; and, thus we '11 
finish the dispute : — That we may settle what we three owe, we '11 
blindfold Sam, and whichsoe'er he catches of us first shall bear all the 
expenses of the trio, with half a crown (if that 's enough) to Sam, 
for playing blindman's buff." Sam liked it hugely, — thought the 
ransom for a good game of fun was handsome ; gave his own handker- 
chief beside, to have his eyes securely tied, and soon began to grope 
and search ; when the three knaves, I need n't say, adroitly left him 
In tht -urch, slipped down the stairs and stole away. Poor Sam con- 
tinued hard at work. Now o'er a chair he gets a fall ; now flounder- 
ing forwards with a jerk, he bol^s his nose against the wall ; and now 
encouraged by a subtle fancy that they 're near the door, he jumps 
behind it to explore, and breaks his shins against the scuttle ; crying, 
at each disaster — " Drat it! Hang it ! 'od rabbit it ! " and " Rat it ! " 
Just in the crisis of his doom, the host, returning, sought the room ; 
and Sam no sooner heard his tread, than, pouncing on him like a 
bruin, he almost shook him into ruin, and, with a shout of laughter, 
said : — " Huzza ! I 've caught you now ; so down with cash for all, 
and my half ci'own ! " Off went the banda.ge, and his eyes seemed 
to be goggling o'er his forehead, while his mouth widened with a horrid 
look of agonized surprise. " Gull ! " roared his master ; " Gudgeon ' 
Junce ! fool, as you are, you 're right for once ; 't is clear that I must 
pay the sum ; but this one thought my wrath assuages — that every 
half-penny shall come out of your 



18. THK FARMER AND THE COVNmLLOR. ~ Horace Smith. 

A COUNSEL in the Common Pleas, who was esteemed a mighty wit, 
upon the strength of a chance hit, amid a thousand flippancies, and hia 
occasional bad jokes, in bullying, bantering, browbeating, ridiculing 
and maltreating women, or other timid folks, — in a late cause, 
resolved to hoax a clownish Yorkshire farmer, — onCi who, by his 
uncouth look and gait, appeared expressly meant by Fate for being 
quizzed and played upon. So, having tipped the wink to those in the 
Kck rows, who kept their laughter bottled down until our wag should 
uraw tlie cork, he smiled jocosely on the clown, and went to work 
Well, Farmer Numscull, how go calves at York ? " " Wh^ — not 
Sir st5 they do wi' you ; but on f.-ur legs, instead of two " '' Oihcei ' 



tSO THE STANDARD SPEAKEH. 

eried the legal elf, piqued at the laugh against himself, ' do play keef 
silence down Delow, there. Now, look at me, clown, and attend ; have 
I not seen you somev.4iere, friend ? " " Yes, very like ; I often gc 
there.' "Our fustic 's wagiiish — quite laconic!" the counsei 
oried, with grin sardonic ; " I wish I 'd known this prodigy, thii 
genius of the clods, when I on circuit was at York residing. Now. 
Farmer, do for once speak true ; mind, you 're on oath, so tell me, 
you who doubtless think yourself so clever, are there as many fools as 
ever in the West Riding?" "Why, no Su-, no ; we 've got our 
share, — but not so many as when you were there." 



19. ME. PUFF'S ACCOUNT OF HIMSELF.— SAerirfan 

Sir, I make no secret of the trade I follow. Among friends and 
orother authors, I love to be frank on the subject, and to advertise 
myself viva voce. I am. Sir, a practitioner in panegyric ; or, t» speak 
more plainly, a professor of the art of puffing, at your service — or 
anybody else's. I dare say, now, you conceive half the very civD 
paragraphs and advertisements you see to be written by the parties 
concerned, or their friends. No such thing ; nine out of ten manu- 
factured by me, in the way of business. You must know. Sir, that, 
from the first time I tried my hand at an advertisement, my success 
was such, that for some time after I led a most extraordinary life, 
indeed. Sir, I supported myself two years entirely by my misfor- 
tunes ; by advertisements To the charitable and hv7nane ! and. To 
those whom Providence has blessed with affluence ! And, in truth, 
I deserved what I got ; for I suppose never man went through such a 
series of calamities in the same space of time. Sir, I was live times 
made a bankrupt, and reduced from a state of affluence, by a train of 
unavoidable misfortunes ; then, Sir, though a very industrious trades- 
man, I was twice burned out, and lost my little ail both times. I 
lived upon those fires a month. I soon after was confined by a most 
excruciating disorder, and lost the use of my limbs. That told very 
well ; for I had the case strongly attested, and went about to collect 
the subscriptions myself. I wa^j afterwards twice tapped for a dropsy, 
which declined into a very profitable consumption. I was then 
reducc-d to — 0, no ! — then'l became a widow, with six helpless chil- 
dren. All this I bore with patience, though I made some occasional 
attempts at felo de se ; but, as I did not find those rash actions answer, 
I left oif killing myself very soon. Well, Sir, at last, what with 
bankruptcies, fires, gouts, dropsies, imprisonments, and other valuable 
calamities, having got together a pretty handsome sum, I determined 
to quit a business which had always gone rather against my conscience, 
and in a more liberal way still to indulge my talents for fiction and 
embellishments, through my favorite channel of diurnal communica 
fion ; — and so, Sir, vou have my history. 



PART TENTH 



MISCELLANEOUS. 



1 ADDRESS OF BLACK HAWK TO GENERAL STREET. 

You have taken me prisoner, with all my warriors. I am much 
grieved ; for I expected, if I did not defeat you, to hold out much 
longer, and give you more trouble, before I surrendered. 1 tried 
hard to bring you into ambush, but your last General understood 
Indian fighting. I determined to rush on you, and fight you face to 
face. I fought hard. But your guns were well aimed. The bullets 
flew like birds in the air, and whizzed by our ears like the wind 
through the trees in winter. My warriors fell around me ; it began 
to look dismal. I saw my evil day at hand. The sun rose dim on ua 
in the morning, and at night it sank in a dark cloud, and looked like 
a ball of fire. That was the last sun that shone on Black Hawk. 
His heart is dead, and no longer beats quick in his bosom. He is now 
a prisoner to the white men ; they will do with him as they wish. 
But he can stand torture, and is not afraid of death. He is no cow- 
ard. Black Hawk is an Indian. 

He has done nothing for which an Indian ought to be ashamed. JIo 
has fought for his countrymen, against white men, who came, year 
after year, to cheat them, and take away their lands. You know the 
cause of our making war. It is known to all white men. They 
ought to be ashamed of it. The white men despise the Indians, and 
drive them from their homes. They smile in the face of the poor 
Indian, to cheat him ; they shake him by the hand, to gain his confi- 
dence, .to make him drunlc, and to deceive him. We told them to let 
us alone, and keep away from us ; but they followed on and beset cur 
paths, and they coiled themselves among us like the snake. They 
ooisoned us by their touch. We were not safe. We lived in danger. 
We lOoked up to the Great Spirit. We went to our father. We 
wem encouraged. His great council gave us fair words and big prom- 
ises ; but we got no satisfaction : things were growing worse. There 
were no deer in the forest. The opossum and beaver were fled. The 
^iprings were drying up, and our squaws and pappooses without 
victuals to keep them from starving. 

We called a great council, and built a large fire. The spirit of our 
(athers arose, and spoke to us to avenge our wrong's or die. We .sec 



552 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

up ine war-wlioop, and dug up the tomahawk ; our knives were read^ 
and the heart of Black Hawk swelled high in his bosom, when he led 
his warriors to battle. He is satisfied. He will go to ttie world of 
spirits contented. He has done his duty. His father will meet him 
there, and commend him. Black Hawk is a true Indian, and disdaini 
to cry like a woman. He feels for his wife, his children, and hia 
friends. But he does not care for himself. He caies for the Nation 
and the Indians. They will suffer. He laments their fate. Fare- 
well, my Nation ! Black Hawk tried to save you, and avenge yous 
wrongs. He drank the blood of some of the whites. He has been 
taken prisoner, and his plans are crushed. He can do no more. He 
is near his end. His sun is setting, and he will rise no more. Fare- 
well to Black Hawk ! 

« 

2. TO THE SECRETARY OF WAR, 1824. — Pushmataha. Born, 1764 ; died, 1824. 

Father — I have been hei'e at the council-house some time ; but 1 
have not talked. I have not been strong enough to talk. You shiUl 
hear me talk to-day. I belong to another district. You have, no 
doubt, heard of me. I am Pushmataha. 

Father — When in my own country, I often looked towards this 
council-house, and wanted to come here. I am in trouble. I will 
tell my distresses. I feel like a small child, not half as high as its 
father, who comes up to look in his father's face, hanging in the bend 
of his arm, to tell him his troubles. So, father, I hang in the bend 
of your arm, and look in your face ; and now hear me speak. 

Father — When I was in my own country, I heard there were men 
appointed to talk to us. I would not speak there ; I chase to come 
here, and speak in this beloved house ; for Pushmataha can boast, ao'i 
say, and tell the truth, that none of his fathers, or grandfathers, or 
any Choctaw, ever drew bow against the United States. They have 
always been friendly. We have held the hands of the United StaUiS 
so long, that our nails are long like birds' claws ; and there is nc 
danger of their slipping out. 

Father — I have come to speak. My nation has always listened to 
the applications of the white people. They have given of their 
country till it is very small. I came here, when a young man, to see 
my Father Jefferson. He told me, if ever we got in trouble, we must 
run and tell him. 1 am come. This is a friendly talk ; it is like 
that of a man who meets another, and says, How do you do ? An« 
•.;>ther of my tribe shall talk further. He shall say what Pushmat.£,h8 
^ould say, were he stronger. 



4. SUPPOSED SPEECH OF A CHIEF OF THE POCOMTUC Hn'DIANS. — Edward Everett 

White man, there is eternal war between me and thee ! I quit nol 
the land of my fiithers but with my life. In those woods where ] 
bent my youthful k)w, I will still hunt the deer. Over voDd<3 



MISCELLANEOCa 653 

Katers I will still glide unrestrained in my bark canoe. By those dash- 
ing waterfalls I will still lay up my winter's store of food. On these 
fertile meadows I will still plant my corn. Stranger, the land ia 
mine ! I understand not these paper rights. I gave not my consent 
when, as thou sayest, these broad regions were pui'oliased, for a few 
baubles, of my fathers. They could sell what was theirs ; they could 
sell no more. How could my fathers sell that which the Great Spirit 
Bent me into the world to live upon ? They knew not what they did. 
The stranger came, a timid suppliant, few and feeble, and asked to lie 
down on the red man's bear-skin, and wai'm himself at the red man's 
are, and have a little piece of land to raise corn for his women and 
children ; and now he is become strong, and mighty, and bold and 
spreads out his parchment over the whole, and says. It is mine. 
Stranger, there is not room for us both. The Great Spirit has not 
madfc us to live together. There is poison in the white man's cup ; the 
white man's dog barks at the red man's heels. 

If I should leave the land of my f;ithcr&, whither shall I fly ? Shall 
I go to the South, and dwell among the graves of the Pequots ? Shall I 
wander to the West ? — the fierce Mohawk, the man-eater, is my foe. 
Shall I fly to the East ? — tho great water is before me. No, stranger ; 
here I have lived, and here I will die ! and if here thou abidest, there is 
eternal war between ine and thee. Thou hast taught me thy arts of 
destruction. For that alone I thank thee ; and now take heed to thy 
steps ; — the red man is thy foe. When thou goest forth by day, my 
bullet shall whistle by thee ; when thou liest down at night, my knifo 
is at thy throat. The noonday sun shall not discover thy enemy, and 
the darkness of midnight shall not protect thy rest. Thou shalt plant 
in terror, and I will reap in blood ; thou shalt sow the earth with corn, 
and I will strew it with ashes ; thou shalt go forth with the sickle, and 
I will follow after with the scalping-knife ; thou shalt build, and I will 
burn, till the white man or the Indian shall cease from the land. Go 
thy way, for this time, in safety ; but remember, stranger, there is 
eternal war between me and thee . 



4. LOGAN, A MINGO CHIEF, TO LORD DUNMORE. 

The charge apaiiist ColomM Cresuii, iu the sulijnined sjieech, — or, rather, message, — sent to 
Lord Duumnre, Gnveni.ir of Vir-iniii, in 1774, throu^'h John Gibson, an Indian trader, has been 
proved to be untrue. Gib.son corrected Logan on the spot, but probably felt bound to delivef 
^he speech as it was delivereil to hiin. 

I APPEAL to any white man to say, if ever he entered Logan's cabin 
fiungry, and he gave him not meat ; if ever he came cold and naked, 
and he clothed him not. During the course of the last long and 
bloody war. Logan remained idle in his cabin, an advocate for peace. 
Such was my love for the whites, that my countrymen pointed at me 
08 they passed, an 1 said, " Logan is the friend of white men." I had 
even thought to have lived with you, but for the injuries of one man. 
Cjlonel Cresap, tha last spring, in cold blood, and unprovoked, mur- 
iered aV the relations of Logan, not sparing even my woiren '3«d chil- 



554 THK STANDARD SPEAKJ511.. 

Jren. There runs not a drop of my blood in the veins of any living 
ereature. This called on me for revenge. I have sought it. I hara 
silled many. I have glutted my vengeance. For my country, I 
rejoice at the beams of peace. But do not think that mine i? the joy 
cf fear. Logan never felt fear. Logan will not turn on his heel te 
save bis life. Who is there to mom-n for Logan ? Not one 



& ilOBAL COSMETICS. — Horace Smith. Born, 1779 ; died, 1849. 

¥e who would save your features florid, 
Lithe limbs, bright eyes, unwrinkled forBhead, 
From Age's devastation horrid, 

Adopt this plan, — 
'T will make, in climate cold or torrid, 

A hale old man : 

Avoid, in youth, luxurious diet ; 
Restrain the passions' lawless riot ; 
Devoted to domestic quiet. 

Be wisely gay ; 
So shall ye, spite of Age's fiat, 

Resist decay. 

Seek not, in Mammon's worship, pleasure ; 
But find your richest, dearest treasure, 
In books, friends, music, polished leisure : 

The mind, not sense, 
Made the sole scale by which to measure 

Your opulence. 

This is the solace, this the science, 
Life's purest, sweetest, best appliance, 
That disappoints not man's reliance, 

Whate'er his state ; 
But challenges, with calm defiance, 

Time, fortune, fate. 



a fEE PAUPEE'S DEATH-BED. — Caroline Bowles SovJtk»s 

Tread softly, — bow the head, — 

In reverent silence bow ; 
No passing bell doth toll, — 
Yet an immortal soul 

Is passing now. 

Stranger, however great, 

With holy reverence bow ; 

There 's one in that poor shed, •— 

One by that paltry bed, — 
Greater than thou. 



MlSCELLANEtiUS. — HORACE SMITH. 5£.fi 

Beneath that beggar's roof, 

Lo ! death doth keep his state ,■ 
Enter, — no crowds attend ; 
Enter, — no guards defend 

Tliis palace gate. 

That pavement, damp and cold. 

No smiling courtiers tread ; 
One silent woman stands. 
Lifting, with meagre hands, 

A dying head. 

No mingling voices sound, — 

An infant wail alone ; 
A sob supjjiiessed, — again 
That short, deep gasp, and then 

The parting groan. 

0, change ! — 0, wondrous change ! — 

Burst are the prison bars, — 
This moment, there, so low, 
So agonized, and now 

Beyond the stars ! 

0, change ! — - stupendous change ' 

There lies the soulless clod ; 
The Sun eternal breaks, — 
The new immortal wakes, — 

Wakes with his God ! 



7. HOPE. — Sarah F. Adams. 

Hr>PJ5 leads the child to plant the flower, .the m^in to sow the seed , 

Nor leaves fulfiln;;eiit to her hour, but prompts again to deed. 

And e)'0 upnn the old man's dust the grass ks seen to wave. 

We look through falliDg tears to trust Mojio's sunshine on the grav* 

no! it is no tinttcriiig lure, — no fancy weak or fond, — 

When hope would bid us rest secure in better lite beyond. 

Nor loss, nor shame, nor grief, nor sin, ber pi'oiuise may crainsav 

The voice divine hath spoke witiiin, and God did ne'er betray. 



8. DEATU. — Horace Smitn.. 

Pam!' Fortune ! Chance! whose blindness, hostility or kindne*!* 
Play such strange freaks with human destmies. — 

Contrasting poor and wealthy, the life-diseased and healtay. 
The blessed, the cursed, the witless and the wise, — 

Ye have a master ; one, who mars what ye have dent • 

Levelling all that move beneath the sun, — 
Death ! 



056 I'HE STANDAKD SPEAKER. 

Take courage, yc /bat languish beneath the withering anguish 

Of open wrong, or tyrannous deceit ; 
rhere comes a swift redresser to punish your oppressor, 

And lay him prostrate, helpless, at your feet ' 
0, Champion strong ! Righter of wrong . 
Justice, equality, to thee belong, — 
Death 

WTitre Conquest crowns his quarre., and the victor, wreathed w.ti 
laurel, 
"While trembling Nations bow beneath his rod, 
On his guarded throne reposes, in living apotheosis, 

The Lord's anointed and earth's demigod, — 
What form of fear croaks in his ear 
" The victor's car is but a funei-al bier " ^ 
Death ! 

Who, spite of guards and yeomen, steel phalanx and cross-bowmen, 

Leaps, at a bound, the shuddering castle's moat. 
The tyrant's crown down dashes, his sceptre treads to ashes, 

With rattling finger grasps him by the throat. 
His breath out-wrings, and his corse down flings 
To the dark pit where grave-worms feed on kings ? — 
Death ! 

When the murderer 's undetected, when the- robber 's unsuspected, 
And night has veiled his crime from every eye, — 

When nothing living daunts him, and no fear of justice haunts him 
\Yho v^akes his conscience-stricken agony ? 

Who makes him start, with his withering dart, 

And wrings the secret from his bursting heart ? — 
Death ! 

To tho.se who pine in sorrow, whose wretchedness can borrow 

No moment's ease from any^ human act, — 
To the widow comfort-spurning, to the slave for freedom yearning;, 

To th3 diseased, with cureless anguish racked, — 
Who bnngs release, and whispers peace 
A.nd points to realms where pain and sori'ow cease? — 
Death ! 



9. LACEKYMOSE WBITERS. — H^oroce 5mttA. 

Ye human screech-owls, who delight 

To herald woe, — whose day is night, 
Whose mental food is misery and moans, — 

If ye must needs uphold the pall, 

And walk at Pleasure's funeral. 
Be Mutfis — and puMish not your cries and groans 



MIS ELLAXETj-c. - HORACE SMITH. 657 

f e say that Earth 'c a charnel ; Life, 

Incessant wretchedness and strife ; 
That all is doom below and wrath above ; 

The sun and moon, sepulchral lamps ; 

The sky, a vault whose baleful damps 
Soon blight and moulder all that live and lo\e. 

Ungrateful and calumnious crew. 

Whose plaints, as impious as untrue. 
From morbid intellects derive their birth, — 

Away ! begone, to mope and moan, 

And weep in some asylum lone. 
Where ye may rail unheard at Heaven and Earth ' 

Earth I on whose stage, in pomp arrayed, 

Life's joyous interlude is played, — 
Earth ! with thy pageants ever new and bright. 

Thy woods and waters, hills and dales, 

How dead must be the soul that fails 
To see and bless thy beauties infinite ! 

Man ! whose high intellect supplies 

A never failing Paradise 
Of holy and enrapturing pursuits ; 

Whose heart 's a fount of fresh delight, — 

Pity the Cynics, who would blight 
Thy godlike gifts, and rank thee with the brutes 

0, Woman ! who from realms above 

Hast brought to Earth a Heaven of love, 
Terrestrial angel, beautiful as pure ! 

No pains, no penalties, dispense 

On thy traducers, — their oifence 
Is its own punishment, most sharp and sure. 

Father and God ! whose love and might 

To every sense are blazoned bright 
On the vast three-leaved Bible, — Earth, Sea, Ss-; 

Pardon the impugners of Thy laws. 

Expand their hearts, and give them cause 
To bless the exhaustless grace they now deny ! 



10. IHE SANCTUARY. -/rorace5mj7A. Adapted. 

For man there still is left one sacred charter; 

One refuge still remains for human woes. 
Victim of care ! or persecution's martyr ! 

Who seek'st a sure asylum, from thy foes 
Learn that the holiest, safest, purest best. 
Is man's own breast ' 



^n8 THE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

T}iere is a solemn sanctuary, founded 
By God himself; not for transgressoi'S 
• But that the man oppressed, the spirit-wounded, 
And all beneath the world's injustice bent, 
Might turn from outward wrong, turmoil and dm, 
To peace within 

Each bosom is a temple, — when its altar. 
The living heart, is unprofaned and pure, 

Its verge is hallowed ; none need fear or falte 
Who thither fly ; it is an ark secure.. 

Winning, above a world o'erwhelmed with wratj. , 
Its peaceful path. 

0, Bower of Bliss ! O, sanctuary holy ! 

Terrestrial antepast of heavenly joy, 
Never, 0, never may misdeed or folly 

My claim to thy beatitudes destroy I 
Still may I keep this Paradise unlost, 
Where'er I 'm tost ! 

E'en in the flesh, the spirit disembodied, 

Unchecked by time and space, may soar elate. 

In silent awe to commune with the Godhead.-- 
Or the millenniiim reign anticipate, 

When Earth shall be all sanctity ?,nd lov^'.. 
Like Heaven above. 

How sweet to turn from angiiish, guilt and m:.dnesi85 
From scenes where strife and tumult never cease 

To that Elysian world of bosomed gladness. 
Where all is concord, charity and peace ; 

And, sheltered from the storm, the soul may rest 
On its own nest ! 

When, spleenful as the sensitive Mimosa, 

We shrink from Winter's touch and Nature's gioo. 

There may we conjure up a A'^allombrosa, 

Where groves and bowers in Suumier beauty bloo';^ 

And the heart dances in the sunny glade 
Fancy has made. 

But, would we dedicate to nobler uses 

This bosom sanctuary, let us there 
Hallow our hearts from all the world's abuses ; 

While high and charitable thoughts, and pr^jer 
May teach us gratitude to God, combined 
With love of kind. 



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